


The Sins of the Father

by YoungEagle1725



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29488278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoungEagle1725/pseuds/YoungEagle1725
Summary: It is 1760. Adira Kane - the daughter of a renowned fighter and brawler - steps into the ring for her first fight in the cellar of a tavern in Boston. Her tenacity and masterful fighting skills do not go unnoticed by Haytham Kenway. What secrets will be uncovered?(Warning - AC Forsaken spoilers and some foul language use throughout)
Relationships: Haytham Kenway/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

She felt the thin cotton fabric press into her knuckles and tighten around her outstretched fingers. She flexed them and examined the work closely, not wishing to fall foul of an oversight in the flexibility of the wraps now encasing her fists and wrists. Her father had practiced wrapping her hands and this was not the first time he had, but this was different. This was not a friendly fight. She aimed to win.

Looking up from her clenched fists, she smiles at her father who had begun to pour the last of the whiskey into two tumblers. Adira admired her father immensely. He had retired from fighting, and now ran a club for budding fighters, but past trauma to his bones and muscles broke through in the quiet moments she shared with him. His dark eyes watched carefully as he filled the glasses with a heavy hand. Her father had a strikingly impressive figure and wide shoulders which struck fear into his opponents and a resolve that allowed him to best any challenger. For such a giant, he moved with speed and grace, but the strength and power of his punches had earned him a great deal of respect. He walks towards her, his face a strange mixture of concern and pride. He laughs to himself and presses the glass into her outstretched hand. She perches on the edge of the table and raises it to his, bowing her head to him and smiling. 

  
‘To your first fight, my dear.’ He dips his head in a slight bow and wastes no time in draining the amber liquid in one swift movement. His words dissolve into the rising noise of rowdy and expectant punters as Adira downs the liquid and feels it burn her insides. She shakes it off and stands, leaving the glass on the table. 

Adira's father looks to the door and back to his daughter and examines the wraps with uncertainty.

‘I’m afraid your mother would have made a much neater job of the wraps, but they will have to do.’ He looks thoughtful and pensive as he speaks of her. She walks to him and smiles and takes his hand and places a gentle kiss on his stubbled cheek.

  
‘She would have praised you for your effort father. I just hope she brings me as much luck as she brought you when you fought.’ She smiles and runs her hand up her father’s arm and squeezes it gently. He looks into her dark eyes and shakes his head. 

  
‘I’m certain she’d have beaten me to a sticky pulp for allowing you to fight in the ring, daughter.’ 

Adira laughs warmly with her father before the angry stamps of leather boots on old wood draws the pair's attention again. 

Adira's father stands and holds his daughter’s shoulders and places a kiss on her forehead. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, and she looks up to him, his head a good foot above her own. He steps back and runs his eyes over his 25-year-old protégé and smiles. To relax, she rolls her shoulders and loosen ups, bouncing on her toes and rolling her neck. Her black trousers cling to her legs and her long leather lace up boots encase her legs up to her knees. The loose shirt is tucked roughly into the top of her trousers and allows her to move freely. A tight length of fabric wraps her chest up to allow for brisk and uninhibited movement. Her long thick, brunette hair is pulled back into a tight plait, leaving her vision clear and her strong jawline and pale neck exposed. 

‘Remember what I have taught you. It is just you and him. Use his power against him. Protect your core and keep moving.’ He reels off short sentences in his panic and Adira can only smile warmly at his concern.

He looks at her and he stops mid-sentence. ‘I know you know. I just… I will be ringside.’

The shouting grows as her father takes her hand and leads her to the door. He squeezes her shoulder reassuringly. ‘Good luck, Adira.’ 

The giant of a man guides his daughter through the louts and drunkards and past the cellar bar where a quieter group of men stand and speak in a hushed tone. The lamps flicker and dance and the air is heavy with the stench of drink and sweat. Adira feels the tension in her father’s fingers as they finally reach the center of the room where wooden panels form the perimeter of the ring. Eyeing the ring and the crowd encircling it like vultures, Adira looks to her father and nods. He lets go after a long and troubled exhale, and Adira grips the wooden side and swings over with ease. Straightening up, she slowly looks around as the eyes bore into her. The shouts and slosh of tankards dies a little and she feels a hush descend on the room. Deep, focused breaths. She closes her eyes again, rolling her shoulders and flexing her fingers. She turns as the noise in the room begins to rise again. The noises are different now, mocking and condescending. Gritting her teeth and centering her weight, she steels herself against the insults and cracks her knuckles. Wolf whistles break out and she feels a fire burn deep in her stomach and spread through her torso. It threatens to consume her thoughts as she eyes up the other end of the ring and waits. She rolls her slender neck and catches fragments of shouts. ‘Alright girlie! Get back to the kitchen where you belong! Big Ed’s gonna ruin you up, lil’ girl!’ Adira turns her head from the noise and focuses on her stance and her core, easing her feet apart to strengthen her position. Voices erupt as she spots a door opening at the other end of the tavern. Big Ed was coming. 

It took him only a few strides to reach the ring and he clumsily climbed in; his whole being drenched with the smell of beer. He shakes his head violently and stands up to his full height, his stomach threatening to spill out and split his trousers. He eyes up Adira and snorts, a deep and mocking laughter growing from that enormous stomach. His sweat rolls from his forehead and he rubs his grubby hand against one of his chins.  
‘I f’ort I was ‘ere to fight, not fornicate.’ He slaps his thigh and laughter beaks out amongst the crowd. Adira growls under her breath and meets his gaze. She looks to her father whose eyes have not left her since she entered the ring. He nods and winks, knowing his daughter is just about ready to bury this fool face first into the sand. Nodding back, she snaps her head back to Big Ed and a smile curls across her face.  
‘I fear you are equally incapable of either, sir.’ Her sarcasm cuts deeply. Big Ed looks to the woman and he grunts, considering her laughable size compared to him. A wild rage pours into his eyes as the crowd’s eyes fall on Adira once again. He yells and barrels towards her, his fists balled up and his savage, blood-shot pupils fixed on their target.

Without hesitation, Adira blocks and shifts his weight against him before he tumbles past her and nearly ends up head-first in the patrons. She stands and watches him, her fists raised, and her fighting stance prepared. His heavy breaths pour out of him as he turns and swings again. Adira grunts and blocks his heavy swing and lands a punch deep in his solar plex, causing his lungs to squeeze out his breath. He staggers backwards, bent over double. She balls up her fist to swing up into his jawline. Breathing through gritted teeth, her knuckles flex against his flesh and his bone and his head is thrust violently backwards, causing him to yell. Seizing the opportunity, Adira grabs his skull and pulls it forward to meet with her knee. The cartilage shatters against her patella and a spray of blood exits his nose on contact. He yelps and grunts and grits his teeth and finally lands a blow which splits Adira’s lip and forces her backwards, her head reeling from the impact. Shaking to regain her focus, she presses the back of her hand into her bottom lip and a trail of blood is left on the wrap. She feels it twinge and before she has time to recover, she feels her whole body being lifted from the ground. Big Ed’s enormous arms wrap around her torso. She gasps as he begins to squeeze. He presses her into his sweat-soaked chest and laughs.

‘Scream girly!’ 

  
Desperately, she tries to break his grip, but he squeezes tighter and she feels her lungs begin to sear and ache as she tries to take in what air she can. Her vision begins to blur, and she frantically looks for her father in the jeering crowd. The noises begin to fade as she feels her grip on her consciousness slip from her. But then, she sees the fear in her father’s eyes. They widen but never once leave her own. She grunts and screams, thrashing violently. His fear fuels her rage, and she twists and thrashes and squares up her head with Big Ed’s. She holds on tightly to her last moments of consciousness and wraps her hands in his matted hair and forces her head hard into the bridge of his nose, breaking it instantly. His grip loosens and he howls, cupping his nose and trying to stop the fountain of blood pouring from it. She rises from the floor and wipes his blood from her brow. She plants her feet and swings her leg out with a force and power her father would be proud of and roundhouse kicks Big Ed square in the side of his blood-soaked face. He is knocked off balance and the sheer force of movement causes him to black out and fall to the ground in an unconscious, bleeding heap. 

Adira stands, chest heaving, fists resting at her sides as she watches the giant of a man bleed into the sand. A quick look up reveals a sea of stunned faces and she turns to see her father beaming at her from ear to ear.

He thrusts his fist into the air and yells over the silence, ‘Adira! Adira! Adira!’

A warmth fills Adira’s cheeks and she spits the blood from her gums onto the sand. The crowd begins to shout and whistle, the condescension and the disdain a hollow memory now. Her father leaps into the ring and throws her blood-soaked fist up into the air, celebrating his daughter’s victory with her. Adira smiles widely and enjoys the moment before her father pulls her into a deep hug. His arms hold her tightly. He pulls her back by her shoulders and leans down to look into her eyes, a bruise forming over her jawline and blood smeared over her brow. She feels her head begin to thump.

‘You, dear daughter, are a tenacious and spirited fighter.’ Blushing again, Adira smiles warmly at his words but feels pain creep in as the adrenaline wears off and her body weakens. 

  
‘I need a drink.’ She laughs and her father wraps his arm around her before leading her back through the crowd and to the bar. 

Adira smiles and nods appreciatively as she passes through, hands on her back and shoulders and offers of drinks flooding her ears. The barmaid throws her a wet rag and she smiles gratefully before she wipes the worst of the blood from her face and neck and throws it behind the bar. Feeling a little better, Adira presses her elbows into the bar and breathes, wincing a little as a pain shoots through her head. She pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales. A strong hand rests on her back and her father leans into her, his voice warm and comforting.

  
‘Wait here a moment, I shall collect the winnings from tonight and then we can celebrate properly.’ She responds with a simple hum, not opening her eyes as flashes of pain shoot across them. Her mind wanders for a moment as she feels her father depart from her company and another take his place.

  
A low voice requests a drink of the barmaid. The distinct sound of whiskey being poured into a glass is one Adira is exceptionally familiar with. The sound that followed caused her to pause and investigate. It was the sound of a heavy glass tumbler being pushed towards her over the sticky wood of the bar. She smiles and removes her fingers from the bridge of her nose and looks down at the amber liquid resting before her arm. Half dazed, she looks up expecting her father to be holding the bottle and her half of tonight’s takings, but he is decidedly absent from her immediate view. She takes the glass gratefully and swirls it around. She feels a set of eyes on her and the distinct presence of the figure stood next to her with his back to the bar and his own whiskey in hand. 

The tall, imposing stranger wears a navy-blue overcoat which is detailed with golden thread. His tricorn hat is embellished with similar detailing. Her vision resolves enough to notice he wears a sword and pistol and a cape with a strange insignia. He is about the same height and build as her father but his eyes are grey, his face pale and his jawline stronger, somehow. His dark hair is pulled back and tied with a scarlet ribbon. She pushes up on her elbows and takes the glass in hand. She watches as his eyes assess her. ‘Much appreciated.’ She manages to mumble before draining the liquid and letting out a hiss as it burns her insides and split lip. She raises the empty glass and nods to the stranger before pressing it down into the bar and turning to face the ring, leaning back to press the small of her back into the wood.

‘Quite the show.’ He says, swirling the whiskey around the glass. His accent reveals what she knew to be true just by his appearance, an upper-class Londoner.

  
Absent-mindedly, Adira begins to pull at the wraps on her hands and hisses and swears under her breath as the pulling motion aggravates her swelling fingers. She becomes aware that she should probably attempt some semblance of conversation. The man had just bought her a drink.

‘Your first?’ He looks to Adira, his eyes glancing over the split in her lip and the bruise along her jawline as she fiddles with the fabric of the wraps, growing frustrated with the increasing lack of movement in her fingers due to the inevitable swelling. Adira glances down at her attire and looks dismayed by its condition. The white shirt is sprayed with blood and patches of dirt and sweat from its contact with Big Ed and her knee is still caked in dark, sticky blood. She looks back to her hands which are beginning to bruise. She laughs to herself and accepts that she will probably need to buy a new shirt and trousers with her earnings. She looks back to the gentleman and nods.

‘Is it that obvious?’ she laughs, still combatting the pain growing behind her eyes. She starts to pull at the knots holding her knuckle wraps together.

The man drains his whiskey and turns to her. He leans in close and rests his glass on the bar next to hers and holds out his left hand. His face changes briefly, to one of pity at Adira’s ineptitude at undoing the tight knots, but it passes as quickly as it arrives.

‘If you’d permit me.’ He says, neither asking nor telling. It was a statement. His eyes press her to act and she obeys.

A little reluctantly, she holds out her right hand and unclenches it. Her eyes fixate on the man as he carefully flicks his wrist and produces a blade. He hovers his left hand beneath Adira’s and lies the blade snugly under the tightening fabric and slices through it with remarkable finesse. He repeats the same nimble action with Adira’s left hand and retracts the blade quickly before placing his arms behind his back. She looks up at him, confused and a little wary as to why he would require such a device. Focusing on the act of kindness rather than his choice to frequent taverns with such an arsenal of weapons, Adira smiles and begins to unwrap her hands. 

‘Thank you, Mr.…?’ She eyes him up expectantly.

  
‘…Haytham Kenway. And you are?’ He looks at her with equal expectancy and she obliges.

  
‘Adira Kane.’ He lowers his head and touches his tricorn in a makeshift bow of a kind.

  
‘A pleasure Miss Kane.’ He looks to the door her father left through. ‘And the gentleman you are with?’ He looks at her, his grey eyes searching the depths of Adira’s dark irises.

  
‘My father, John. Johnny Haymaker Kane to his friends.' She finishes unwrapping her fingers and flexes them, feeling the joints complain and the blood on her fingers finally dry.

A look of understanding flashes across Haytham' s face before he asks his next question. 

  
'Of the Boston Brawlers?' He returns to watch Adira carefully. 

  
She smiles to herself, still amazed how her father's reputation always preceded him.

  
'The very same, Mr. Kenway.' 

She lets out a small hiss of pain as she presses her fingers gently into the bruise and over her split lip.

'I shouldn’t have allowed him to take a swing at me. It broke my focus.' She growls in a low voice and damns herself for her poor judgement. 

  
‘Indeed. A fighter of your caliber should have knocked your opponent out cold before he had a chance to inflict any damage. 'He smiles at Adira and delivers his line with a playful tone. Adira raises an eyebrow and tries to make sense of his back-handed compliment. He straightens up and lowers his head before lifting it and meeting her gaze.  
'You could have ended him with your first strike, but I suppose the punters require sating. They demand a show.' He waves his hand and gestures generally as he emphasises that final word. He sighs and looks to Adira, waiting for her to react to his assessment of her first fight. 

  
She snorts derisively, his words like tinder to the dying fire in her soul. What the hell did he mean by that? She tries not to sound frustrated with his assessment and instead turns and leans over the bar, grunting a little as she balances. She reaches down to pull out a bottle of hard cider. She uncorks it and grips it in her bare fingers. The condensation on the bottle soothes the dull ache spreading across her hand. She lifts it to her lips and takes a swig before pointing to the ring and answering. 

  
‘Sating the punters’ thirst for blood or not, I don’t see Big Ed getting up to feed me my teeth, Mr. Kenway.’ She replies defensively. She consumes another swift swig and folds her arms. His lips curl into a smile and he looks over his shoulder to the ring before leaning in. His hands remain behind his back and his face is only a few inches from her ear as he begins to speak. She notes the quiet timbre of his voice and the faint smell of tea and cedarwood.

  
'You are capable of more than entertaining drunkards. You are gifted, Miss Kane. You only need the right opportunity and this… charade… will not facilitate that.' Adira’s eyes flicker dangerously but he simply smiles and straightens. She clenches her jaw and wants to retort. To demand what he knew of her to make such assessments. What right had he to stand before her both praising and damning her and her chosen path in the space of a breath? But he looks away and to the stairs leading up to the main tavern before she has a chance to react.

  
‘I must take my leave of you, Miss Kane.’ He says, clearly and without looking at her. His attention fixed on the gentleman with the dark moustache and tied back hair sporting a dark brown overcoat waiting expectantly on the stairs. His eyes snap back to Adira’s and a half smile crosses his face. 

  
‘A great shame. I was so enjoying the manner in which you were trivialising my livelihood. Please do not let me keep you, Mr. Kenway.’ Her words drip with sarcasm and disdain. He once again bows his head and touches his tricorn, and Adira sees him smile at her overt sarcasm from beneath its brim. 

  
'Come and find me when you inevitably tire of punching drunkards and sub-par opponents for pay, Miss Kane.' He turns and disappears into the crowd and Adira mutters a string of profanities. His words circle through her head and she tries to evict them from her thoughts, but they burn and continue to revolve and interrupt her stream of consciousness. She wanted nothing more than to fight. How could she tire of it? She hated how his words lingered.

The cider quenches Adira’s thirst and numbs her senses. She presses the bottle to her head and feels the piercing cold soothe her bruised skull. The alcohol proves to be most effective in the reduction of her cognitive function. Mr. Kenway's words still, annoyingly, resonate, for now but the next bottle would most assuredly solve that. Nestling the bottle between her thighs, she pulls out the band holding her hair in its plait and slowly runs her fingers through it, relieving the tension building in her head. She lets out a small hum of relief and her hair curls and bounces with life around her strong, pale face. Releasing her grip on the bottle, she retrieves it and takes another swig just as her eyes catch the gold and blue of Haytham's imposing frame finally making it to the stairs. Out the corner of her eye, she watches him ascend the stairs and pause. 

'Master Kenway, Shay has arrived and awaits you in the meeting room.' Charles reports to his master but his eyes flick back to the young lady leant against the bar with the long brunette hair and lean build.

'Who is she, Master Kenway?' His eyes greedily trace her form as she presses her lips to the bottle of cider.   
Haytham turns slightly to observe Adira but his gaze does not remain on her for long. He looks to Charles and sees him lick his lips. Haytham quietly admitted to himself that Miss Kane was most appealing to the eye. He rests his swirling and calculating eyes on Charles who remains distracted. 

  
'That young lady is Miss Adira Kane, Charles. She is the daughter of Johnny Haymaker Kane.' He speaks in a low and hushed tone.

'She could prove to be a useful asset and a tenacious recruit for the Order.' Charles looks to his master and nods.

Haytham moves to turn but pauses, laying an authoritative hand on Charles' shoulder.

'I would advise against making advances, Charles. She will bury you face first in the ground and not spill a drop of her drink. She is not to be trifled with.' 

Charles nods but lingers for a moment longer before joining his master in the tavern. 


	2. Chapter 2

After a month’s worth of fighting in the ring beneath The Black Bear Tavern on Union Street, Adira now held the tavern title of champion. It was no small undertaking and she barely had time to breathe between matches. Her opponents varied greatly but her ability to knock down any challenger without taking a beating herself had grown exponentially. She no longer sported the busted lip and jawline bruise of her initial fight. She had learnt to be focused, efficient and deadly in her choice of moves. She was not sure, but somehow Mr. Kenway had been correct in his assessment of her abilities and of her thirst for purpose and meaning. She felt ashamed of her anger at him but then at the time, she knew no better. She could down any challenger with her powerhouse move before they laid a finger on her. Her fighting prowess had not gone unnoticed and her winnings had flooded in with every victory, but she did find herself craving a fight in which her opponent did not stink of beer and sex and poor choices.

Tonight’s celebrations reminded Adira of the evenings she had spent with her mother in the taverns of Penzance after her father had once again earned his name and his winnings in the ring. Drink and merriment were abundant in The Black Bear Tavern and Adira soaked up every glorious, whiskey-filled second of it. The sailors and maidens who frequented the establishment were high spirited and threw their arms around Adira and her father and plied them with hard cider and whiskey. Laughter and music filled the tavern, and the sailors slammed their tankards on the tables as the fiddler played and the bard sang late into the night. Adira and her father linked arms and skipped in a circle, bottles in hand and heads spinning as they swapped and linked arms with more jovial members of the celebration.

Finally sitting at the bar, breathing heavily and still laughing, Adira and her father shared a quiet moment as the celebrations finally began to fade with the passing hours. 

‘I can’t remember the last time my vision wasn’t swimming.’ John laughs heartily and wipes a tear away from his eye. His speech is slurred and full of warmth and whiskey. He places his bottle on the bar.

He watches his daughter thoughtfully for a moment. ‘I am so proud of you, Adira. You are an excellent fighter, and you will soon earn a name for yourself. Something fearsome and beautiful.’ He pauses and Adira feels her cheeks flush.

She takes another swig and watches her father think deeply. ‘Father, I don’t need one right now. I’ve only just earned the title.’ She laughs and slaps him on the thigh and with that, he begins to blurt out his half-considered suggestions. 

‘The Lioness!’ He gasps and screws up his face, uncertain of his suggestion. 

‘The Sedative… because you put people to sleep? No! No! That might confuse people.’ 

He closes his eyes as if accessing some extensive mental almanac of fighting nicknames. Adira laughs at her father’s struggle and is heartened by his attempts to secure a nickname for her right there and then.

He opens his eyes and snaps his fingers. ‘I’ve got it!’ He smiles widely and moves his hand into an arch shape as he speaks. ‘Adira Hurri-Kane!’

He looks pleased with his suggestion and looks to his daughter for her approval. She raises an eyebrow and looks unconvinced. He explains his suggestion. 

‘Because you are swift and powerful and wreak havoc!’ He presses and grabs his bottle and lifts it. Adira nods and looks impressed, lifting her own bottle to her father’s. She liked the sound of that. It was catchy and accurate. They knock the necks of the bottles together with a satisfying clink and each take a long swig.

A few moments later, John pulls the bottle from his lips and slowly stands. Adira holds her bottle in her hand and she watches her father carefully, readying herself to catch him should the whiskey suddenly take hold.

‘A toast!’ He hollers over the music and hum of conversation and laughs. Each face turns to him expectantly.

‘Fiddler if you will – A Health to the Company!’ John raises his bottle, and the fiddler bows his head and begins to play. John clears his throat and in his deep baritone voice, which used to fill the hearts of the tin miners and sailors of the taverns of Cornwall, begins to sing: 

‘Here's a health to the company and one to my lass. Let's drink and be merry. All out of one glass. Let's drink and be merry. All grief to refrain. For we may or might never all meet here again. Here's a health to the wee lass, that I love so well. For her style and for her beauty, there's none can excel!’ He takes his daughter’s hand in his own and his chest swells with pride. ‘Adira Hurri-Kane!’ He shouts and drains the last of his drink as each person shouts in unison.

Adira smiles widely and she is filled with a deep and glowing warmth. She bows her head to the raised tankards and glasses before draining the last of her drink. 

She couldn’t quite remember climbing the stairs to her room in the tavern. She recalled it being exceptionally dark and having to stifle her father’s laughter as she tried to wrestle his heavy weight into his own bed. She could not help but laugh with him in between her half-hearted shushing. Before she had reached his door to close it, he was asleep, and a deep rumbling noise rose softly from his parted lips. Adira smiled to herself and watched her father as she stood in the doorway, easing the door closed as gently as she could.

‘Good night, father,’ she whispered before pressing the handle down and hearing the latch engage. The floorboards complained as she toed them gently in order to reach her own room and pushed the door closed before slumping to sit down on the edge of the bed, the smell of whiskey strong on her breath. Her fingers still ached but she admired how they now swam in her vision as the alcohol filled her senses and overwhelmed them. Clumsily, she tugged at her laces and pulled her boots from her feet, wriggling her toes before turning and crawling up into bed. Her head felt pleasantly light and her thoughts did not weigh heavily on her as her eyes finally closed and she too surrendered to the depths of sleep. 

The morning came quickly, and its pleasant rays of warm light swamped the room in which Adira slept. Her lids were heavy with sleep and she forcibly rubbed them with the backs of her hand, causing her vision to blur for a moment. She blinked weakly and sat up slowly, the life flooding back into her as she regained consciousness. She groaned, realising she had fallen asleep in her blood- stained shirt and trousers and was relieved to see it had not soaked into the bed or the blankets. Gripping the bed post, she pulls herself up and stretches her arms up and forward, pulling her shoulders and bending at her hips to squeeze out the tension in them. Pulling on her boots with a grunt and a hop, she approaches the wash basin. Raking her fingers through her hair, she wrestles it back into the tight plait and allows a few wisps to escape. She nods to herself and pulls open the drawer of the small cupboard to retrieve the leather pouch which contained her winnings. She looped the ties through the belt loop on her trousers and decided that now would be a good time to remind her father that he had the ledger to complete and training to attend to at the club today.   
On seeing that her father had vacated his room, Adira descended the stairs slowly and asked Mrs. Foster, the tavern proprietor, if her father had already left. 

‘Oh yes dearie and he said he would return once his business was concluded. He did not say how long he would be, only that he was never drinking again.’ She smiles a little and watches as Adira lets out a laugh and shakes her head. 

‘For all his size and talk, he holds his liquor very poorly, Mrs Foster.’ Adira smiles to herself and imagines the dishevelled state in which her father awoke and promptly left. 

‘I thank you, Mrs Foster. I shall return later.’ Adira bows her head in gratitude and heads out of the tavern door and into the bustling streets of Boston. 

Boston was a place which offered a great many surprises. Adira had become familiar with each street and shop and the hardworking people who, like her and her father, wished for a new beginning in the New World. Ten years had passed since they had boarded the ship from Penzance and crossed the tempestuous sea to begin again. She breathed in deeply and allowed the noises to fill her ears and overwhelm her senses before she pulled the tavern door closed behind her and made her way to the tailors near the docks where she might acquire some new clothes. 

Curiosity had eaten its way through Haytham’s thoughts, and he could not help but follow Adira as he stepped from The Green Dragon to meet Shay at the docks. He regretted his tone the last time he had spoken to Miss Kane. It had been some time since he had spoken to anyone like her. The last was Ziio and he admitted to himself that, in hindsight, he had fumbled through their first meeting as well. Adira was beautiful and entirely unique in her attire and being. She was fierce and headstrong and, although he would never admit it to her or his Templar brethren, he had rather cocked up. One thing was certain, he had seen something in her eyes the first night they had met. He had heard of her triumphs in the ring but knew little of her. She was spirited but life had bruised her. He wanted to know what motivated her. 

On passing a fruit cart laden with apples and imported exotics in the market, Adira smiled at the oblivious vendor, who was renowned for his miserly ways and hatred of the poor and bereft, and deftly slipped the largest apple from the stacks into her hands and continued to the corner of the street. Haytham paused a moment, perplexed by her action until he saw her kneeling at the entrance to an alleyway, her arm outstretched. A small hand reached around the apple and took it from Adira who smiled warmly at the child.

‘Good morning Miss Elizabeth.’ She whispered and winked at the little girl.

A wide smile appeared on the little girl’s pale face, her blue eyes sparkling. 

‘G’morning Miss Adira.’

Adira pitied the child who spent a great many hours alone as her mother earned her keep at the brothel. Adira had no doubt the child was loved but a parent’s absence is a pain Adira had felt for ten long years and she could sense that same pain in others. Slipping behind another cart, Haytham watched Adira stand and leave the child to devour the apple. 

Adira paused outside the tailors and peered in, shielding her eyes from the bright rays of the sun as her eyes flitted over each outfit and their accompanying price label. Having spent most of her life in the company of her father, Adira had little experience in finesse and finery and eyed up the dresses and skirts with fleeting curiosity. Whilst her mother had been alive, she had taught her daughter to dance and sing and read and write in both English and Cornish and she’d had lessons on how to conduct herself in a manner befitting a young lady who sought nothing more than marriage and children. At least, that is what Adira thought when she was young. On reflection, her mother had taught her these skills to expand her opportunities and see her prosper in society. Her mother never wanted Adira to fight for coin as her father did, but she was left with little choice. Once her father and her had left Penzance and settled in Boston, it was the only life she had known and, inevitably, she got good at throwing punches and gauging her opponent’s weaknesses by studying her father. She caught her reflection in the glass and eyed up her blood-stained clothes, peppered with sanguine spray from each of her opponents. She pulled her gaze away from the dresses and spotted the shirts and trousers instead. As she made to enter the tailors, her ears pricked at the sound of shuffling and the sound of breath catch in a throat. She snapped her head down and her eyes locked with the those of a young boy who had tugged the pouch from her belt loop and had begun to sprint for the docks. She grunted in frustration as she released the handle of the tailors and pelted after him. Haytham gave chase.

Her eyes were fixed on the young boy, his feet carrying him swiftly between the swathes of drunkards and sailors and ladies in bonnets. He stole a look behind him and gasped as Adira kept pace with him and began to gain on him as he tired. She hissed through her teeth and kept her feet light, darting around people and evading obstacles. She leapt across a group of barrels and pushed herself forward, breathing harder and faster. The docks were a perilous place to run but she knew the thief would soon come to a dead end. And he did. Gripping his sides and bent over double, he held his hand out and tried desperately to gain some semblance of breath. He stood at the end of one of the piers with only the sea surrounding him. Adira slowed and stopped, relaxing her shoulders and catching her breath back quickly. Haytham waited quietly and out of sight behind a stack of barrels. He was uncertain of what Adira might do and his mind flashed back to a time when his former mentor Reginald and his father had argued about the fate of a thief. 

‘You’re quite the runner. You almost had me.’ Adira smiles at the young boy who looks thoroughly confused. He watches her closely. She raises her hands and looks at him, her face soft with understanding. ‘I’m Adira. What is your name? She says softly. Haytham listens intently. 

The young boy mumbles, ‘Thomas.’ 

‘Well Thomas, life must have served you something pretty shit for you to turn to stealing.’ The boy’s eyes fill with tears and he wipes them away with the sleeve of his jacket. 

‘My parents died of the pox, Miss. Left me alone.’ He hangs his head and sobs quietly. 

‘I understand. Life can be cruel, and we think we have little choice in it. I want to offer you a choice. My winnings which you hold, in exchange for a job in which you may earn your own.’ Adira smiles warmly and slowly approaches the boy who is sniffling and trying to comprehend her words. She kneels, her head below his. The boy is no more than 15 and is caked in the grime of the Boston streets. She looks up to him and slowly brushes away the tears that streak down his face. 

‘You are quite the runner. My father runs a special club, and he needs a strong, capable young man to deliver his correspondence, Thomas. I think you are that man. What do you say?’ 

Thomas looks taken aback and he begins to nod, slowly. Adira’s eyes brighten as Thomas hands back the pouch and listens carefully to her instructions. Haytham quickly pulls back behind the barrels. 

‘Now, you know where the Boston Brawlers Club is? Ask for John and say that Adira has sent you to help him with his correspondence. We will look after you, Thomas and see you right.’ Thomas nods and quickly departs from Adira’s company with several coins pressed into his grasp as an advance. 

Adira sighs and attaches the leather pouch to her trousers again and smiles as she watches Thomas make his way to the club. She turns for a moment and looks out to the sea, the ships and clippers breezing across the water. Her mind wanders to the coasts of Cornwall and to the beaches and the heather which coated the headlands. A creak from the first wooden slat of the pier amongst the hustle and bustle of the docks alerts her to the presence of someone new and she flicks her head over her shoulder to see. Haytham was impressed that she heard him approach amongst the cacophony of shouts and shuffling which filled the docks. He knew their last meeting had been over a month ago and he had not been gentle with his words. He felt himself exhale a breath he had not realised he was holding.

‘An unusual kindness, Miss Kane.’ Haytham moves towards her, his hands pressed behind his back. Adira sighs, noting the way he was yet again assessing her. She threads her thumbs through the belt loops on her trousers before turning her head to watch the water. The last time this man had spoken to her, he had assessed her and found her wanting. Why was he here now? With a twinge of regret and a hope that his next words would not cause her temper to flare, she took a moment and collected her thoughts. 

‘One I hope will allow him to make his way in the world, Mr Kenway.’ She smiles to herself and at the thought of the little boy and sees Haytham move to her side; his eyes fixed on the horizon. She breathes in the salty air. ‘It is a start, at least.’ 

‘Why did you choose to help him? Many would have simply alerted the nearest patrol.’ Haytham looks to Adira, his eyes watching her carefully, intrigued. 

‘The pain of losing those we love is enough of a burden to bear. He is young and in need of care, not iron shackles around his wrists. How can we expect anyone to flourish in the New World if we meet troubled souls with steel and not sentiment?’ She felt her temper beginning to bite.

‘A pain you have experienced, Miss Kane?’ Haytham asks gently, noting the passion which snaked through her words. He hoped he could gain some insight into the woman who stood next to him and perceived the world with eyes beyond her years.

A weak smile passes over her lips and she looks down for a moment, folding her arms across her chest and inhaling deeply. She turns her head to look at Haytham whose face has softened.

‘One we must all endure, Mr. Kenway.’ Haytham says nothing and for a moment, Adira sees a thoughtfulness fill his features. He turns his head and shifts his weight to listen. She shifts her hands and squeezes her biceps softly, offering herself some small comfort as she confided in Haytham. 

‘My mother, Mr. Kenway. A fierce and learned lady. A brief illness took her from my father and I ten years ago whilst we still lived in Cornwall.’ She feels her throat narrow as she speaks the words. They tumble from her lips and land heavily at her feet.

‘My father taught me to fight when we moved to Boston that I might defend myself against all manner of threats but I’m afraid illness is an intangible foe. One we could not best.’ She closes her eyes and feels the final touch of her mother’s hands on hers as she passed from this life. Of the breeze as she lay the wildflowers down upon her mother’s resting place and of her father’s arms as she sobbed. She opens her eyes and looks up, Haytham’s grey eyes linger on hers.

‘I am sorry Miss Kane.’ His face darkened and he felt his own history finally catch up with him and a deep emptiness filled his stomach. He too had known loss. He had known betrayal and deceit and it had scarred him. It had been two years since his trusted companion Holden had nursed him back to health and it had been two years since Holden had hung himself. The grief of his sudden passing had numbed Haytham and he wrestled with the ghosts of his past on a daily basis. Death surrounded him. It was the business he was in. It was inevitable. It had bruised his soul and he struggled to trust anyone. But as he looked at Adira, he saw in her a spark of hope and a willingness to give others purpose even if she struggled with her own. 

‘It was a long time ago, but I thank you. Grief has a strange way of enveloping us in our quietest moments.’ Adira smiles weakly and inhales shakily as Haytham thinks on her words.

Adira’s eyes watch Haytham’s features darken, his thoughts leading him through the headstones of his past.

‘I feel you keep much of yourself a secret, Mr. Kenway.’ She walks slowly to the end of the pier. Haytham stops for a moment and turns his head quizzically before walking slowly to stand behind Adira once again. She turns and looks up at him. 

‘You are from London, you come from a family of marked social standing and you are never without your pistol, sword or the blade on your wrist. These are the things I am certain of, Mr. Kenway.’ She smiles and walks around him as she speaks, her eyes moving across his shoulders, over the insignia on his cape and to the eagle on his cuff and back and up into his swirling grey eyes. He smiles from under his tricorn. It seemed she was now assessing him. It was an unusual feeling but one he allowed her to indulge in as recompense for his harshness on the night they had met. 

‘I fear that you are no stranger to grief, Mr. Kenway.’ Her tone is soft and understanding. ‘I feel that death follows you like a shadow.’ Haytham pulls his gaze from hers and falters. She had grasped the measure of him in only a few words and he felt his defences momentarily drop. 

‘It is hardly a surprise when someone is raised in the manner I was.’ He feels the words slip from his lips before he has time to catch them. He pauses and subconsciously moves his hand to the scar across his torso as it twinges, thinking of Holden. She had read him like a damn book. He who had spent years burying his emotions. She had seen through him and for one blissful moment, he felt the weight on his shoulders lift. He slips his hand back behind him and clears his throat. He regards Miss Kane with a smile. She was insightful and disarming and she looked at him now in the hopes that he too, might share the burden which weighed on him so heavily. He wasn't ready and he wasn't sure he ever would be. 

‘I believe you were heading to the tailors, Miss Kane?’ 

‘Anyone would think you’d been following me Mr. Kenway…’ She notices a brief flush pass through the man’s cheeks but is dissipates quickly and he shifts to walk around her, his tone clear, pleasant and business-like. 

‘Indeed. You show great promise. Your conviction is strong, and your athleticism is masterful, and I wish to offer you an opportunity. A purpose beyond fighting in the ring. Much like the one you offered the boy; it will widen the path life has laid down for you.’ 

She drops her arms slowly and moves towards him. He locks eyes with her, preparing himself for a verbal onslaught. 

‘Did I hear a compliment leave your lips Mr. Kenway? ’ She smiles and mocks him playfully, the sarcasm marking the return of her fighting spirit. His lips curl into a smile and he meets her intense gaze. He had been correct. She wanted to be more than a tavern brawler and he knew she was capable. Maybe he hadn't cocked up quite as much as he first thought. 

‘Will you allow me to accompany you to the tailors so that I might explain my proposal, Miss Kane?’ With a smile and a nod, Adira brushes past Haytham, causing his pulse to quicken, and he turns his head and watches her stride purposefully back through the docks and continues after her. 


	3. Chapter 3

Adira found herself slowing from her normal brisk and purposeful pace as she retraced her steps back to the tailors. Her eyes briefly wandered to the gentleman who now accompanied her. Haytham walked swiftly and with conviction. The grief of which he spoke only a few moments ago had once again been buried deep in the folds of his being. Adira thought about his words in the quiet moment they had shared and his brief but honest confession. What grief had he known? How had life twisted and tormented him?   
Her dark eyes flicked to the bustling group of similarly aged women on the other side of the street. She watched as their eyes widened and the usual comments about her attire and, on this occasion, the blood which soaked it, slipped from their lips. She rolled her eyes and continued. She had heard it all before and would doubtless hear it again tomorrow. She exhaled heavily through her nose, much like an enraged bull, and fixed her gaze forwards. Her ears pricked and she shot a look back to the women. Unusually, the usual din of ridicule was followed by an explosion of blushing and coquettish giggling behind their lace gloves and silk fans as their eyes hungrily devoured the man who walked closely beside Adira. Her eyes drifted back to Haytham again who seemed oblivious to his group of admirers and instead looked deep in thought. 

Haytham walked next to Adira and took a few moments to consider his words carefully before he articulated them. He considered the young woman walking next to him, her clothes still splattered with blood. Although her figure was lean, the muscles in her forearms and legs were evident. She was remarkably powerful and yet darted around obstacles with flexibility and grace. Her knuckles had begun to erupt in a smattering of angry bruises as she flexed her fingers absent-mindedly with each step she took. She intrigued him. Adira walked through the streets of Boston without a care for the disapproving looks which plastered the faces of the maidens in their bonnets and finery. She cared not for the attention or approval of those who did not wish to understand her. Adira had taken the time to confide in Haytham and he appreciated the honesty with which she spoke of her mother’s passing. Haytham’s life was built on a foundation of lies, deceit and death and yet, Adira, though she had secrets of her own, spoke honestly and openly. 

‘So Mr. Kenway, what is it you propose?’ Adira sidesteps and brushes past a sailor who had just begun to haul cargo down to a waiting schooner. She quietly apologises to him before continuing. Turning her head slightly towards Haytham, she pulls a wisp of her long hair behind her ear but continues to walk through the thrum of people. Despite being a good few years or so older than her, Adira marvelled at Haytham's ability to keep pace with her and admired the swiftness with which he shifted to avoid obstacles, all whilst talking to her. 

‘I wish to train you, Miss Kane. Or at least, offer you training as an adept in an elite group of individuals who operate solely in the colonies.’

He keeps close to Adira’s side as he speaks. ‘The skills you will learn will allow you to progress through the…organisation…’ 

Haytham senses his own hesitation in naming The Order and pauses for a moment, allowing Adira to digest his words before he continues.

Adira’s head shifts as her eyes move across the imminent hazards threatening to trip her as she walks. She slows to a stop and holds her right hand out lazily, indicating for Haytham to stop. He halts, her fingers barely brushing his torso. She closes her eyes briefly and her face twists as she thinks. She had noted the hesitation in his voice. Her head turns and with it her shoulder and her torso. Her head cocks to one side and she turns to stand in front of him, her dark eyes meeting his grey ones once again. She was standing only a few inches away from him and he noticed how her dark eyes seemed to penetrate him as she queried his words.

‘And what does this organisation do?’ Adira asked, her eyes fixed on Haytham’s as she emphasised his generic term. She saw a brief flash of unease sweep across his face. She wondered why he had hesitated. She humoured him for the moment, listening carefully to his words and his tone. If he wished to recruit her, he would need to place enough trust in her to divulge every detail. 

She watches his face shift subtly. He strengthens his jaw and there is an absolute certainty radiating from him once again. A spark lights the fire behind his eyes. He speaks clearly and fervently now. His words flow from him as if they were etched into the very fabric of his being.

`We seek to instil a sense of purpose in our followers and we hope to unite and enlighten the world. We work to rid the world of barbarism so that peace may finally flourish.’ 

A quiet hum leaves Adira’s lips. 

‘You believe you have the power to do that, Mr. Kenway?’ She considered his words, and she felt her face soften. Haytham watched as Adira’s dark eyes widened. Her words were flecked with doubt and disbelief, but her eyes held a fragment of hope. Adira released the tension she was holding in her shoulders and relaxed her stance. It was a lofty ideal and as imposing a figure as Haytham Kenway was, he and his band of merry men were still just mortal men. She turns her head and begins to walk slowly again, avoiding the constantly shifting detritus of the docks, the tailors only a short distance away. 

Haytham walked briskly back to Adira’s side and continued. ‘Not alone Miss Kane. But I do believe that with strong individuals such as yourself, people of vision who believe in giving purpose and direction to those whose lives would otherwise spiral into chaos, peace is achievable.’

Adira smiled to herself. She was often referred to as a strong individual. Headstrong and steadfast, her father often quipped. It occurred to her that Haytham honestly believed she had the capacity and capability to support his vision. Or was it her vision? Why couldn’t it be both?

Adira turned the corner slowly, prepared to meet further traffic as she did so. She looked up and spotted the sign for the tailors at the corner of the next street. She thought of Haytham's words. She had no doubt the man next to her was capable of a great many things. He spoke with a fervent passion which heartened Adira and she found herself intrigued by the prospects of being a member of such an organisation. 

‘And if I were to consider your offer, what would you teach me Mr. Kenway?’ Adira thought once again of her mother and the lessons she had taught her before she had passed away. She clenched and relaxed her aching fingers and thought of her father and she chuckled to herself. That man had taught her to fight and drink like a trooper. No, that was not a fair assessment. Her father had taught her to survive and had pulled her from the depths of her grief whilst dealing with his own. He had taught her to be strong both in body and spirit. She continued to walk, keeping her feet light and shifting swiftly. 

‘Languages and literature, Miss Kane. As well as further combat training. Climbing and free running as well as swordsmanship if you so choose.’ Adira’s eyes flash and wander to the sabre sheathed at Haytham’s side. She caught herself wondering if she might one day carry a sword as he did. She imagined him easily overpowering those who challenged him with the meticulous blade he always kept at his side. She is pulled away from her thoughts as Haytham continues to speak.

‘I know you are familiar with Boston. I could teach you how to listen to its people in order to rid it of its unjust treatment of troubled souls like Thomas.’ He smiles at Adira who locks eyes with him as he repeats her own words back to her, thinking of the young boy she had saved from a life which would have inevitably and abruptly ceased at the end of a rope. 

Pausing a moment on the corner of the tailors, she considered the implications of her earlier actions. She remembered the feel of Thomas’ tears rolling down her thumb as she wiped them from his cheek and of his joy at being offered a purpose. She thought of young Elizabeth and how she cowered in the alleyways outside the brothel to avoid the redcoat patrol. Her brow furrowed and she rolled her wrists, pressing her thumbs into her palms to relieve the dull ache which coursed through them. The bruising came thick and fast, causing her knuckles to seize painfully. Her weight shifted to one foot as she thought of her own future. As much as she enjoyed fighting in the taverns, the thrill was waning. Here stood a man who offered her a path of purpose and progression. Her father had given her the means to survive in the world after her mother had passed, but what did Adira want for herself?

She was uncertain how long she had been standing; her pale face vacant as she sifted through her thoughts. She wrung her hands together gently, hissing through her teeth and silently cursing under her breath. Haytham noticed how Adira, when she was thinking, would massage her hands and roll her shoulders as if to shift the trauma from them. He also noticed that her Cornish accent slipped through when she swore and, for a reason he had yet to understand, it brought a smile to his face. His eyes flick back up to her pale face and briefly linger on her strong jawline and soft lips. He felt a sense of relief that both her bruise and the split lip from her first fight had healed without issue, but a twinge of concern caught him off-guard as he watched Adira hiss at the pain in her bruised hands. 

Adira tried to push the ache from her thoughts and looked up having finally wrestled her questions and concerns away for now. She watched as Haytham’s eyes darted from the bruising on her hands and were caught by hers own intense, dark eyes. A flash of concern passed through his facial expression but was quickly replaced with an inviting smile. She dropped her hands and mimicked his stance, hiding her hands behind her back and stepping forward. 

‘And what position do you hold within this organisation, Mr. Kenway, that you can offer me such an opportunity?’ 

Haytham stands tall and squares his shoulders. ‘I am the Grand Master. The head of the organisation, or at least that which exists in the colonies.’ 

Adira pulled her arms from behind her and folded them. A half smile formed across her lips. From their first meeting, she had concluded that Mr. Kenway was of a high social standing and possessed an authoritative demeanour. She nodded approvingly as he stood before her, his hands still tucked behind his back. He was an impressive and handsome figure and it had not escaped her notice that a great many of the ladies who looked at her with abhorrence as she passed, regarded him with a different attitude entirely – one of carnality heavily coated in nauseating giggles. He had obviously worked hard to achieve his title and, she thought, it rather suited him. 

‘With a title such as that, I am sure your organisation has an equally exalted designation…’ She smiles and watches as Haytham bounces on the balls of his feet and slowly walks towards her. He smiles to himself. Her sarcasm was never forced but seemed to spill from her like a mother language. He clears his throat and speaks.

‘The Templar Order of the Colonial Rite.’

‘Quite the mouthful. Perhaps you should consider recruiting a strong and capable individual with a flair for abbreviations, Grand Master Kenway.’

Adira replied with her usual sarcastic tone but was sure to emphasise Haytham’s title with the respect it deserved. Earning a title was no easy task and she did not wish to mock his achievements. Adira dipped her head playfully but finished speaking with a smile which was genuine and demonstrated understanding. She watched as Haytham’s lips curled into an appreciative smile. 

‘Shall I take your good-natured ribbing and the use of my official title as an indication that you are considering my offer, Miss Kane?’ 

Smiling widely, Adira prepared to answer but was stopped short before the words left her lips. The dark-haired gentleman, who Adira had spotted on the stairs after her first fight, appeared and blustered chaotically through the throng of people moving through the streets. 

‘Master Kenway! Master Kenway!’ He bellowed, attracting the eyes of onlookers. 

‘One of your disciples?’ Adira says quietly and indicates with a nod of her head. She looks to Haytham, who turns to acknowledge the visitor, and folds her arms. She is intrigued by the urgency in which this man requires his master’s attention. She presses her shoulder into the brick wall on the corner of the tailors and observes quietly. 

He wore the same dark overcoat, and his fist clenched a piece of paper. He waved it about in the air and only dropped his arm when he finally stopped in front of Haytham who, from what Adira could surmise from the clenching of his hands beneath his cape, felt frustrated by either the man’s complete lack of subtlety as he yelled from across the street or the interruption to their conversation. 

‘A letter for you Master Kenway.’ He says as he tries to regain his breath, his cheeks flushed and his brow sweaty. Adira smiled quietly to herself. The panting man did not look to be much older than her - a few years perhaps - and yet he desperately sought the approval of Haytham, like a child would of a parent. Or, more likely, a faithful hound would their master. Brushing her private and humorous judgements aside, she did notice that this gentleman held himself well and stood as though, Adira thought, he was a military man devoid of a uniform. 

‘Did you run here, Charles?’ Haytham eyes him up and notes his shortness of breath. He smiles and relieves Charles of the crumpled letter in his hand. 

‘Yes, Master Kenway. I wanted to be sure you received the letter as soon as possible. I had hoped it would be from Johnson…’  
He stops and his eyes dart to Adira, her arms still folded and her eyes dark and fixed on the two men. 

‘Oh, I did not realise you had company, Master Kenway.’ Charles’ face twists in uncertainty as his eyes flit across the woman leant against the wall. Her lean figure and blood-stained shirt are a testament to her profession. A flash of realisation passes over his features. 

‘Ah…Miss Kane?’ A smile curls his lips, and his eyes widen. Adira laughs to herself as Charles frantically wipes his brow and tries to regain his composure, for her benefit it would seem. Haytham turns to Adira and a brief smile crosses his face as if beckoning her forward for introductions. Unfolding her arms and pushing her sleeves back up to the elbow, she shifts her weight, pulls her loose plait over her shoulder and takes a few steps towards the two men standing before her. She was by no means short but the two did stand a good head higher than her with Haytham a few inches taller again. 

‘Miss Adira Kane, this is Charles Lee. A member of…’ He pauses and recalls Adira’s sarcasm. He looks at her before speaking. A playful smile shoots across her face. She had obviously had the same thought. ‘...The Order.’ Haytham gestures to Charles and steps away slowly, unfolding the letter and reading it intently.

Adira moves slowly towards Charles and, reluctantly, takes his outstretched hand. The dull ache in her fingers and knuckles had flared and bit angrily now. The bruising had peaked but Charles merely eyed her up and salivated like a dog eyeing up a meal and remained oblivious to the state of her hands. He grips her hand far too firmly and she feels a deep pain shoot up her fingers and into her arm. She hid her wince behind a pained smile - an action which did not go unnoticed by the Grand Master. She expected to slip her hand from his, but he slowly twisted it in his and bent at the waist and placed a long and lingering kiss on her skin. His eyes bore into hers.

Having read the letter, Adira notices, from the very corner of her vision, an almost imperceptible eye roll from the Grand Master as Charles finally pulls away and straightens, releasing his grip. 

‘A great pleasure, Miss Kane. Forgive me but I find myself lost for words.’ He smiles lewdly, his eyes sparkling, and his words honeyed. Adira refrained from swearing under her breath as her hand throbbed painfully and angrily. She found him to be sycophantic in his earnestness but tried her utmost to refrain from judging him. If he was a member of The Order, then he must have some semblance of skill and promise. She smiled politely and refrained from retorting with an overly caustic reply. She settled for mildly caustic. 

‘Please do not exert yourself in an attempt to find them, Mr. Lee.’ Adira smiles briefly, considering her response to be considerably measured. Haytham dips his head and beneath his tricorn, a wry smile appears and disappears just as quickly. Charles exhales through his nose in disbelief at Adira and cocks his head, his eyes fixed on her as his hunger grows. He prepares to retort but Haytham silences him with a slight raising of his hand as he reasserts his authority. 

‘Now that we are all acquainted… Charles? Would you mind meeting Shay off The Morrigan and apologise to him on my behalf. I shall be along shortly. I wish to conclude my business with Miss Kane.’ Haytham grips the man’s shoulder and smiles, guiding him away from Adira.

‘Of course, Master Kenway.’ Charles turns briefly and smiles, admiring the spirit with which the woman combatted his advances. He liked a challenge. ‘Good day to you, Miss Kane.’ 

‘Good day, Mr. Lee.’ She sends him a brief smile for his effort and watches as Haytham draws his attention back to the task in hand.   
The Grand Master sighs as Charles finally leaves his side. He turns to Adira.

A smile spreads across her lips and she chuckles under her breath. ‘He’s keen.’

She looks down for a moment, scuffing her boot along the floor absent-mindedly. She looks up to see that Haytham is also smiling, shaking his head and tucking the letter into the folds of his frock coat.

‘I apologise for the interruption and for his brazen advances. He means well, Miss Kane. He is loyal and capable, if a little earnest.’ He turns and watches the tall, dark figure of Charles meander through the crowds and approach the ship with billowing red sails. Thinking back to their conversation, Haytham was uncertain he had been even marginally convincing but before he could utter a single syllable, Adira had beaten him to the post.

‘Do not worry yourself.’ She watches his words stack behind his teeth. She walks towards him and stands at his left side, gently pressing the joints in her fingers and massaging her knuckles again. Her head turns slightly, and she looks up at him, his face shaded from the rays of the sun. He turns his head and raises his eyebrow quizzically. 

‘I will accept your offer… on one condition.’ She turns, her shoulder sitting just below his. Haytham felt an odd tingling pass through his side, Adira’s lean body close to his. It took him a moment to ascertain that this feeling was one of warmth and enjoyment. He was enjoying the proximity in which Adira now addressed him.   
He smiled from beneath his tricorn. She was not going to make this easy for him. Adira thought for a moment, her eyes shifting from Haytham’s broad shoulders, up over the scarlet ribbon and white cloth shirt which framed his neck and up onto his strong jawline. Her eyes fluttered up to his lips which were drawn into a half smile and finally up to his eyes.

‘Yes, Miss Kane?’ 

She folded her arms and focused. ‘I will accept so long as your training sessions do not interfere with the defence of my fighting title.’ On this matter, she would not compromise.

Haytham nodded. ‘Of course. And in return, I would ask that your scheduled tavern fights do not interfere with my training sessions.’ On this matter, he would not compromise. 

She considered her next move carefully. Cursing herself for the pain she would undoubtedly feel in the next 30 seconds, she holds out her right hand and a genial smile spreads across her lips.

‘Then I accept your offer, Master Kenway.’

Adira stood close to the Grand Master, close enough to inhale the pleasant scent of tea and fresh parchment which accompanied him. She had little experience with the intricacies of nervousness, but the rapidly growing feeling which originated in her stomach was not unpleasant or dissuading. Her pulse quickened as Haytham’s eyes drifted down to her outstretched hand and back up, lingering on her lips before meeting her gaze. She took a breath and watched as Haytham smiled at her, seeing her silently struggle with her thoughts. He wondered if the young woman in front of him was also experiencing the tantalising buzz of their proximity. He pulls his hand from behind his back and slowly, slips it into Adira’s. He gently wraps his fingers around hers, feeling the warming sensation shift from his right side into his right hand as his skin gently presses into hers. Adira’s hands were not as large as his but Haytham could feel the trauma they had experienced. He did not grip or shake with any force, aware that Adira, as resilient as she was, had significant bruising across her fingers and knuckles - a fact Charles had neglected to consider as he recalled the quick inhalation and pained expression of the young woman who stood before him as she and his second-in-command had exchanged pleasantries. Adira felt the strength in his hand exceed her own, though he seemed to be limiting his grip, and she smiled, appreciating the gentleness with which he both took and released her hand. He slipped his own back under his cape. Adira did not shift from her position. She lingered for a moment and clenched her hand before pulling it away. The propinquity to Haytham ignited a feeling in her – one of warmth and a desire to stay. His gentle touch had surprised her somewhat, but then he had shown equal finesse in removing her knuckle wraps when they had met. 

‘I’m afraid I must once again depart from your company, Miss Kane.’ He smiled at the young woman, his voice low and quiet. He straightened and rolled his shoulders, his eyes darting to the red sails in the distance. He did not wish to leave her company, but he had urgent business to attend to. ‘I’m sure you understand.’

Adira felt her mood deflate a little but she nodded and smiled warmly.

‘You must tend to your metaphorical sheep, Grand Master.’ She threaded her thumbs carefully into the tops of her breeches and pulled away from him.

‘And I must finally visit the tailor and purchase clothes that aren’t covered in blood.’ She laughs and looks down at her attire. He smiled and appreciated her understanding of his responsibilities, which now extended to her. 

‘Join me in The Green Dragon this evening, Miss Kane. We need to discuss a training regime.’ 

Adira nodded and smiled, her mood lifting once more.

‘Yes, Master Kenway.’ She says respectfully. She bows her head slightly and dutifully acknowledges the Grand Master as her mentor before turning the corner and finally entering the tailors. 


	4. Chapter 4

Adira absent-mindedly eyed up the garments in the tailors. No sound entered her ears as she strolled slowly through her thoughts. She brushed her fingers along the collections of fabric, but her visage held a passive and disconnected expression. Her thoughts continued to return to those piercing grey eyes and the swirling feeling in the pit of her stomach. If she concentrated hard enough, she could still feel Haytham's hand in her own.   
A clear voice rang through her thoughts and anchored her to the present, clearing her head and focusing her. 

'May I help you, Miss?' 

The tailor peered over his glasses at the young woman standing before him. With a puzzled expression, he followed the blood spatter across her shirt and his querying eye rested on her blackened knuckles.   
‘A new wardrobe, perhaps?’ He smiles genially and beckons her to him. 

Although a little hesitant at first, the tailor soon obliged and fulfilled Adira's requests with the extra coins she placed in his gratefully accepting palm. Making use of the private area in the back of the store behind the counter, she removed her blood-stained clothes and replaced them with her purchases. Trying not to anger the bruises on her knuckles which were beginning to dull, she pulls on a new pair of black trousers, which ride high on her waist and have six front fastening buttons and smiles as they meet her black under bust corset which fastens discreetly at the front and has thick straps which travel up and over Adira's shoulders and rejoin the corset at the back. Adira enjoyed the feel of the corset - it seemed to give her core strength as well as definition. Her clean white cloth shirt had a folded collar and lay open at her neck. The two lengths of tying fabric loosely crisscrossed over her exposed chest bone and neck and hung lazily just above her corset. The sleeves of her shirt billowed a little and tightened again at the slightly decorative cuffs which were embroidered with a simple design. On seeing her hair was now in disarray in the long mirror, she pulled out the band holding it together and took the time to braid it properly into a single tight French plait. She pulled her knee-high black leather boots back on and tightened the laces before reaching to pull on her new favourite item of clothing - her jacket. The tailor had once again kindly obliged her request and had tapered a long black buttoned jacket in at the waist. The pleated fabric dropped past her knees and stopped mid-calf. The sleeves hugged her arms but did not limit her movement. A long-hemmed split parted the tails up to her lower back, freeing her movement. She adjusted the folded collar and caught herself discerning her appearance more than she normally would.   
Pulling the ties on the leather pouch from her discarded trousers, she stashed her remaining winnings into the inside of her jacket before pushing the curtain aside and heading back into the front of the store. 

Adira smiled warmly at the tailor as she walked around the counter. He had begun to pack up her other purchases and seemed to take great joy in folding each item lovingly and meticulously. He looked up and over his spectacles, a half-smile spreading and a twinkle in his eye.

'I must say Miss Kane, you are a woman of singular taste. You shall strike fear and awe into the hearts of your opponents, and your friends.' He smiles widely, chuckles and admires his handiwork before tying up the bundle and pushing it over the counter to Adira who returns his half smile with one of great satisfaction. 

Adira nods appreciatively. 'Thank you, Mr. Henderson. You have been most generous with your time and effort.' 

Smiling at him, she takes the bundle up under her arm and turns to leave but her eyes snag on the tumbling fabric of a dress hidden between the rows of gaudy ball gowns. The carmine red of the natural skirts and over-bust corset were accented by the beautiful black detailing which covered the modest neckline and spread out over the shoulders. Its full-length sleeves faded seamlessly from black to red and as the dappled light of the afternoon broke through the window, the long skirts seemed to change hue - deepening and shifting within the blink of an eye. Mr. Henderson notices Adira's lingering gaze and smiles. 

‘It would suit you, Miss Kane. Beautiful and striking. Would you like to try it on?' He queries thoughtfully as he drifts towards it. Adira smiles briefly and pulls her gaze away from the dress and looks at the kind eyes peering over the glasses.

'I'm afraid I have no reason to wear such a dress, but I thank you.' She nods gently and departs, walking briskly to the Boston Brawlers Club with the bundle tucked under her arm.

The Boston Brawlers Club was made up of the main brick building with long open windows and a collection of smaller outhouses and barns with a courtyard and adjacent field. The collection of trees surrounding the largest building blew lazily in the light breeze and the shrubs rustled gently as the clouds began to roll through the sky. Adira's father had invested a great deal into acquiring the land and the building after they had moved to Boston so he could offer bare-knuckle fighting and training to those with a knack for it. Adira smiles to herself as the memories fill her thoughts. She would sit by the fireplace and read, all whilst carefully observing her father train and guide Peter and Adrian. At first, her father was bemused by Adira's request for her father to train her, but it did not take long for him to realise that his daughter had inherited his gift for pugilism. John spent much of his time at the club as did Adira, but she preferred to rent a room at The Black Bear Tavern to ensure she had some time to herself now she was older and had gained her independence. 

The gravel of the courtyard crunched under Adira's boots as she finally wrapped her fingers around the handle of the large wooden door and released the latch.   
She smiled warmly at the scene before her. Thomas was balling his hand and launching it playfully into her father's enormous palm. She leant against the door frame and smiled to herself. Her father was a kind man and, like Adira, had a soft spot for the unfortunate and bereft. Thomas had obviously been washed and now wore a shirt which covered him completely from head to toe - one of her father's.   
Heavy grunts and thuds from the other side of the long room alerted her to the presence of another. With a quick glance, Adira saw Adrian Jackson driving his fist into the large wheat bag suspended from the low rafters by a meat hook with the rope tied to the vertical beam. The sweat glistened on his tattooed arms. His dark blonde hair was pulled up in a ponytail and his open shirt clung to him. The sweat poured from his brow and his blue eyes focused intently on the heavy wheat bag. He bounced on his feet and drove his fist hard into the bag once again, sending it swinging from him. Wrestling the bag to rest, he finally notices Adira at the door, watching him. He smiles widely and wipes his brow. He approaches the large wooden table, which sits alongside the window, and breathes heavily before consuming the contents of his tankard. He places the empty tankard back down and throws his leg over the bench at the table and straddles it. 

'Run for cover! It's Hurri-Kane!' he bellows loudly with his wrapped hands cupped around his mouth for effect. 

Adira laughs and steps in, looking to her father and to Thomas before dropping the tied bundle onto the wooden table next to the bottles of hard cider, small beers, stacked tin plates and a selection of pies and fruit. 

'They should call you The Jester…’' She quips playfully before pulling her jacket off and lying it on the back of the chair by the hearth. 

'I see you are no worse off for last night, father.’ Adira straightens and laughs warmly. 

She smiles at her father’s towering figure and the slightly bleary eyed but cheerful expression he wore. He seemed to be desperately clinging to his sobriety after a hard night’s drinking. 

‘And I see you found the place alright, Thomas.' She straightens and looks at Thomas who is trying to roll up his exceptionally long sleeves with little success. 

'Sharp as anything this young lad and he runs like a shot from a gun. Perfect young man for fetching and delivering letters.' John tussles Thomas' hair playfully and smiles warmly at Adira.  
'You have a kind heart, daughter. Just like your mother.' 

He feels his eyes begin to brim as he pulls Adira in for a warm embrace. Wrapping her arms around him, she squeezes gently and closes her eyes for the moment. A deep and sorrowful feeling threatened to overwhelm her as she recalled the feel of her father’s arms around her when her mother passed. It felt so real again and she gripped harder, fighting the enveloping grief. Releasing his grip, he places a kiss on Adira’s head and pulls away, wiping his eyes and smiling brightly. He rests his heavy hands on her shoulders. He pulls his soft and watery gaze away and to the bundle on the table and back to Adira. 

'I see you've been shopping.' He nods approvingly and admires his daughter's new clothes. 

'A little better than a blood-stained shirt and trousers.' She rolls her sleeves up to her elbows and pulls a wisp of hair behind her ear as his hands drop and Adira moves to the table to untie the bundle. With her bruises no longer biting, she pulls out the pile of clothes and pair of shoes for Thomas and lays her hand on top of them gently.   
'These are for you, Thomas. We can't have you running around Boston in my father's shirt and little else now can we.' She looks at the young boy and smiles.

Confusion is quickly replaced by realisation and Thomas’ eyes fill with tears. A large smile appears across his face. He looks up to John and back to Adira and bolts to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and squeezing her tightly.   
'Th'nk you, Miss Adira.' His voice is shaky and full of gratitude. Adira rests her hands on his shoulders and squats down as he pulls away slowly. A warming sensation fills her insides and cheeks, causing her eyes to widen and her lips to draw into a broad smile. 

'You are more than welcome, Thomas.' She brushes the tear from his cheek and watches it roll down her thumb. This young man carried so much on his shoulders - the weight of his parents who had passed. For a moment, he was happy and Adira savoured that.   
'You best try them on.' She squeezes his shoulder and winks at him as his eyes widen in excitement.   
He nods frantically and pulls the pile of clothes and new shoes into his arms. He bounces on his toes and runs up the wooden stairs to the set of rooms spread across the balcony.

Adira straightens up and folds the large sheet of fabric into a neat pile and throws it onto the chair with the string that had held it together for her journey. John watches his daughter intently and he feels his chest swell with pride. Adrian’s frustrated grunts penetrate his thoughts, and he laughs to himself as the young man pulls his knuckle wraps tighter rather than releasing them. He shakes his head and moves into his study to lock the ledger away, leaving Adrian to his bumbling ineptitude. 

Stepping silently towards Adrian, Adira hoists herself up onto the table and rests her boots on the bench between his legs. Adrian’s increasing frustration with his knotted wraps caused him to pull at the knots haphazardly with his teeth. Finding it difficult not to laugh at his predicament, Adira rolls her eyes and laughs to herself, hanging her head and watching him struggle for a moment more. He always quipped that he was a year older than her and knew more, so it was gratifying for Adira to savour the moments when he required her help because he'd managed to cock up again. With only a mocking sigh, she rests Adrian's arms over her left thigh and begins to untie his wraps. 

Adrian cocks his eyebrow as he finally notices the bruises across her knuckles. He looks at Adira and a playful smile crosses his chiseled face. She tugs the long fabric from his fingers and unravels it successfully. 

'Forget Hurri-Kane. With that outfit, they should call you The Reaper.' He giggles as he eyes up Adira's long black boots, trousers and corset.   
She does not look at him but frees his hands from the wraps completely. He rubs his knuckles and clenches his fists, watching a half smile spread across her face. 

'Appropriate considering you are about to be a dead man.' The half-smile shifts into a wry grin and before Adrian has time to react, she pulls him into a headlock and laughs as he squirms and curses her. His hands try desperately to break her grip, but it is like an iron vice.   
Pulling the door closed and pressing the key into the lock to secure it, John turns, returns the key to his jacket pocket and rolls his eyes as his daughter had once again, proven too quick for Adrian. It takes him only a few strides to reach the table where he clears his throat dramatically. 

'When you two have quite finished…' Adira releases Adrian from the headlock and winks at him mockingly. He growled and scooped his hair back into a ponytail. He smiled to himself and swore he would get back at her later.

'We were just about to have a bit of grub. Have you eaten, Adira?' John asks thoughtfully.

'No, father. I'm afraid my morning was rather hectic. I spent a great deal of it listening and contemplating.' She thinks back to her conversation with Haytham in the docks and of their walk back to the tailors. 

'Oh?' Her father eyes her quizzically as he uncorks three bottles of hard cider and presses them into Adrian and Adira's hands. He takes a long draw on his own bottle before sitting and cutting the large game pie into four slices and dishing it out onto the tin plates. 

Adira moves and positions herself next to Adrian, swinging her legs over the bench and tucking them under the table. Taking a swig from her bottle, she takes the full plates from her father and places them down in front of her and Adrian. Pulling off pieces of the crust and picking up chunks of meat, she eats for the first time today and finds her hunger growing with each mouthful. She pauses and wipes her mouth, looking to her father as Adrian stuffs his face with far too much and struggles to swallow.   
'Do you remember the man I told you about from my first fight, father? The one who wore the tricorn and had the blue overcoat? Carried a sabre?' 

'Vaguely... Kenway was it?' Her father recalled after finishing a mouthful of pie and taking a bite of an apple.

Swallowing hard and gasping for breath, Adrian interjects. 'Bought you a drink, didn't he?' 

Adira nods and smiles, recalling Haytham's acts of kindness on their first meeting. He had bought her a whisky to dull the ache after her fight and had helped her remove her wraps. She felt a strange sense of trepidation flash and fade just as quickly as she searched for a way to explain the interaction between them today. She gripped the bottle of cider and looked at her father who wore a soft and considerate expression. Taking heart, Adira finally spoke again. 

'He approached me today with an offer. An offer I have accepted…' began Adira. 

Adrian sprayed his mouthful of cider explosively down his front and through his nose. 'Marriage!?' He looked at Adira and then at John with wide eyes and a frantic energy. John's gaze was still fixed on his daughter, but he did chuckle at Adrian's explosive and rather messy outburst. 

'No! She laughs hard and shakes her head. Adrian wipes his face with his sleeve and regains a little composure. Both men looked at Adira now, waiting and wondering. 

'He offered to be my mentor. He will teach me new skills which build and reinforce the training you have given me, father. He seems to think I will make a strong addition to his group.' Adira found herself guarding her words a little or at least, as Haytham had done, found herself not naming The Order specifically. She felt compelled to remain somewhat vague with regards to the details. 

Her father looks both impressed and skeptical. 'His group? He sounds like a man of influence…' Her father considers his daughter for a moment and begins to nod approvingly. He did not wish to press his daughter on the details of her arrangement. She was strong, capable and intelligent and could handle her own business as she pleased. He was grateful and humbled that she still wanted to share her life and her business with him. 

'So, when does this new training begin?' John asks inquisitively. He felt a buzz of excitement for his daughter and she smiled brightly at him. She knew he would understand. He always did. 

'I'm meeting him this evening at The Green Dragon to work out the details, but he has agreed that his training will not interfere with yours.' Adira watches as her father considers her thoughtfully. She still wanted to train with her father. She cherished him and his teachings and, though her path was changing, she would always be a Cornish fighter.

'Perfect! I'm meeting my girl Sofia down there this evening. We can walk down together.' Adrian grips Adira's shoulder and squeezes, an amused smile across his face. 

Adira looks to Adrian in disbelief. She hangs her head and laughs to herself before looking back at him. Adrian had been her friend and training partner for the last six years and she was certain he had bedded the entire married and unmarried female population of Boston twice over. 

'Oh, so it's Sofia this week. What happened to Victoria? I swear, nothing in a dress is safe.' She downs the last of her hard cider and rolls her eyes, laughing. John shakes his head and laughs before finishing his bottle of hard cider and resting it on the table.   
  
‘Can I help it if women find me irresistible?' He feigns excessive egotism and laughs. He slaps his hand on Adira's thigh and winks. 

‘At least if I accompany you, you won’t get into trouble and I can get a good look at this Kenway fella.’ His half smile is full of shameless satisfaction and he downs the dregs of his drink. 

Before Adira can retort, Thomas appears at the bottom of the stairs, beaming from ear to ear in his new cream stockings, pale trousers, buttoned shirt with a blue neck-tie and matching blue jacket with silver detailing.   
They each turn to him and silently admire the young man before them, transformed from a thief to a gentleman with an act of kindness. Adira smiles widely and swings her legs out from under the large wooden table. Gently brushing her thighs clean of crumbs, she straightens and approaches Thomas. Eyes wide and full of joy, he looks up to Adira, her face soft and her eyes locked with his. Curtsying slowly and with a wink, she addresses the young man before her. 

'May I have this dance, Sir?' 

Thomas straightens and his eyes sparkle. 'Of course, Miss Adira.' 

He offers his hands to Adira who takes them gently and slowly leads him around the room in a dance all of their own. They step lightly around the club floor and John feels a warmth deep in his soul, filling him and spreading to his cheeks as he watches his only daughter dance with the young man. After a few wonderful and care-free moments, they part and Thomas bows. Adira returns his bow with a curtsy and he wraps his fingers in hers. He blushes and he holds himself tall and proud. Adira gives his hand a gentle squeeze and walks him back to the table to allow the young man to eat and drink his fill. 

'Every bit the dashing young gentleman, Thomas.' John nods approvingly at the young man who sits and pulls his plate closer to him, eyeing up the food hungrily. 

'Thank you, Mr Kane.' Thomas smiles brightly and enjoys the large helping of pie. 

With a contented sigh, Adira looks through the large window and up into the sky as the clouds roll through tinges of purple and orange. 'I should get going, father. I do not wish to be late for my meeting.' 

John smiles and nods at his daughter as he uncorks a small beer for Thomas.  
'Of course. Please give Mr. Kenway my regards and tell him he is welcome at the club, anytime.' 

Adira smiles warmly and gently squeezes Thomas' shoulders as he eats and looks up at Adrian who has clambered over the bench and stands at his full height, only a few inches taller than Adira. He stretches his lean tattooed arms up over his head and brings them down softly to ruffle Thomas' hair playfully. 

'Please tell me you're at least going to put on a fresh shirt. It’s hard enough being seen with you in public when you aren’t covered in cider and sweat.’ Adira rolls her sleeves back down to her wrists and walks to the chair, pulling her jacket on slowly and adjusting the collar and her plait.

'Of course. My Sofia has standards!' Adrian declares fervently and dramatically, his tattooed hand on his heart.

'She's set the bar pretty low by agreeing to have drinks with you.' Adira teases him playfully and laughs at his mock shock. John smiles to himself and begins to cut up an apple for Thomas. His daughter was quick-witted and fierce, much like her mother. 

It doesn't take long for Adrian to fetch a fresh shirt from the rooms upstairs. Pulling his shirt up over his head, Adira smiles and notices he has had another tattoo etched into his chest. Pulling on his clean shirt, he grabs his jacket from the other end of the table near the wheat bag and waits. With a kiss on Thomas' head and one on her father's cheek, Adira and Adrian leave and head into town to The Green Dragon to meet Sofia and Haytham. 


	5. Chapter 5

The bright sun, which had warmed the brick and cobbles of Boston only a few hours ago, had fallen behind a wisp of cloud and cast long orange rays against the darkening sky. It would set in a few hours and the bustling streets of Boston would finally sleep. With her usual purposeful stride, Adira walks up Union Street with Adrian in tow. They pass The Black Bear Tavern and its regular group of jovial sailors and glimpse the sign for The Green Dragon a little further up the street. Once again, Adira’s stomach twisted and bubbled. Obviously, her body was under the impression she was about to go a few rounds with an opponent. At least, that is what she told herself. 

Looking at her heavily tattooed friend and to herself, she laughed a little, hoping to untie the tightening knot in her abdomen. Though she would never admit it to Adrian, for fear his ego might explode, Adira was glad of his company at this moment. Her father had jokingly remarked that her and Adrian were like chalk and cheese, but they accepted and appreciated their differences. They were quite the pair. They had been through more than most. Despite their raillery, they always had each other’s backs. Always. 

  
‘Jack…’ Adira began. She stopped a few feet away from The Green Dragon. 

  
‘Oh no, this must be serious. You never call me that.’ Adrian laughed and looked at Adira, his face a mixture of concern and warmth. He took a few steps back from the light of the tavern window which flooded the street with a warm glow and stood in front of Adira. It was true. Adira only ever called Adrian by his fighting name when she either needed to confide in him or needed him to understand that what she needed to say was important and not a subject she wished to joke about. 

  
Exhaling a deep breath and looking up at Adrian, she spoke. ‘I need this meeting to go well. Please try and stay out of trouble. I do not want to have to come and save your arse from being lynched…again.’

  
‘That happened one time! One time!’ He argues playfully. A wide smile of understanding spread across Adrian’s lips and he rests his tattooed hands on his friend’s shoulders. He squeezed gently and reassuringly. ‘I promise to stay out of trouble.’ 

With a warm smile, Adira nodded appreciatively and followed Adrian into the tavern.   
A quick inspection of the tables and people confirmed that neither Haytham nor Sofia had arrived yet. With her stomach tightening and her thoughts racing, she inhaled and felt her chest tighten. Slamming his hand down onto Adira’s shoulder, Adrian pulls her from her thoughts and back into the bustling tavern.

  
‘I have yet to buy you a drink to congratulate you on your title. The champion of The Black Bear Tavern!’ Adrian jubilantly announces and grins. Unbeknownst to him, not everyone in the tavern was as pleased with the result of Adira’s fight. He wraps his arm around Adira’s shoulder and guides her to the bar where he promptly buys a bottle of whiskey and grabs two tumblers, all whilst flirting with the buxom barmaid. 

  
With their backs to the crowds in the tavern, Adrian uncorks the whiskey and pours it into the waiting tumblers. 

  
‘Oi! Kane!’  
The enraged bellowing causes Adrian to turn and lock eyes with a dishevelled and inebriated redcoat who has his arms snaked around two distinctly uncomfortable courtesans. 

  
‘I lost money on that last fight. Was a fucking fix. You ain’t nothin’.’

  
He staggers towards Adira and Adrian. Wiping his nose, his eyes are fixed on Adira’s back as she leans against the bar and swirls the whiskey around the tumbler in her left hand. A long sigh escapes her lips, and the tavern din lulls. Expectants eyes dart to Adira, who straightens but continues to stand at the bar. Adrian looks to her, determined to honour his word and not cause or engage in trouble. Adira shoots him a grateful smile and swiftly downs her drink. 

  
Adrian looks from the redcoat and back to his friend, her voice low and calm as she speaks. 

‘Gambling is a terrible vice… I recommend drinking instead.’ She pours another round into her empty tumbler and waits for the inevitable provocation.   
His voice grows louder and more antagonising as he engages the crowd. 

‘Your dear daddy fixed it up. No way a bitch like you could win a fight without cheating.’ 

Relaxing her shoulders and sliding her elbows from the bar, Adira smiles to herself.

  
‘Interesting hypothesis. Care to test your theory?’ Her voice was a little louder now, but still disturbingly steady. She turns and holds her whiskey lazily at her left side. Facing the sneering and dishevelled man, she steps forward calmly and shoots him a half smile and cocks her eyebrow. With her right hand, she beckons him forward tauntingly, daring him to engage her. 

  
Adrian looks at Adira from his leaning position at the bar and recognises the wrath burning behind her eyes. He shakes his head and lets out an amused hum. Even though Adira gave no inclination that she felt anything but composed, her challenger would most certainly leave the tavern with shattered bones and a significantly smaller ego. 

  
Apoplectic with rage, the soldier charges towards her, reaching for her throat with his right hand.

Before his fingers even brush her skin, Adira thrusts her right elbow down hard into the crook of his arm, twists up to grab his exposed throat, knocks his legs from beneath him with a powerful sweep and throws him to the wooden floor with a heavy thud. Tightening her grip around his throat, she presses her right knee into his abdomen and pins him. 

  
‘How’s that theory working out for you?’ 

  
Cocking her head, she smiles triumphantly as he squirms under her grip. He scrabbles helplessly, pulling at her jacket sleeve. She enjoys witnessing his ego shrink as the onlookers witness his pathetic attempts to break free. Finally succumbing to her, he feels his cockiness shrivel and waves of embarrassment fill the void it leaves. 

  
With one swift movement, Adira downs the tumbler of whiskey in her left hand and presses it into Adrian’s. Gripping his jacket, she wrenches the soldier up and pulls him close. Quietly, she whispers into his ear. Her tone is steady, but the threat contained within it is very real. 

‘I have tolerated you for long enough. Threaten me again and I will break your face.’

  
Adira stands and pulls the soldier up from his recumbent position. He exhales angrily as Adira loosens her grip. She had every intention of disengaging and leaving what was left of his ego intact. That would be an end to it.

  
Until he spat in her face.  
With fistfuls of his crimson jacket in her clenched fists, she locks eyes with him and raises him from the floor. His eyes widen, his ego shrivels, and his boots barely scrape the floor- boards. Trying to find purchase on the bruised hands which now hold him, he tries to wriggle free of her grip and begins to mumble feebly.

  
‘You were warned.’ She growls quietly. Her patience spent, her white knuckles throbbing angrily and her wrath consuming her.

  
With a powerful thrust forward, Adira smashes her skull into the bridge of his nose and splinters the cartilage. Howling loudly, his blood gushes from his nostrils and floods his white shirt. Adira releases him and he collapses to his knees. The soldier wails and bends, desperately trying to stem the bleeding. His bleary eyes stream as he curses her and continues to howl. Adira stands over him and watches the pathetic scene unfold, numbed to his cries of pain. She had warned him. 

  
‘And you were worried about me getting into trouble.’ Adrian laughs and hands Adira a clean cloth from behind the bar.

The noise in the tavern rises again and people return to their conversations and drinking. Pressing the cloth into her face and wiping away the spit, she feels the cooling sensation of the damp cloth dousing her rage. Handing the cloth back to Adrian with an appreciative smile, she watches the bloodied soldier cradle his nose and shy away from her. Cursing and inhaling quickly, she splays her hands and feels each bruise pang ferociously.

Looking beyond the tips of her fingers, her gaze falls upon the boots at the door. She cocks her head, and her eyes snap up.

  
Straight into the intense and unmistakable eyes of Haytham Kenway.  
Adira’s eyes widen. 

  
‘Miss Kane.’ Haytham shifts his gaze from her to the bloodied soldier and to Adrian who now stands at her side.

  
‘Is that Kenway?’ Adrian leans down a little, whispering and using his head to indicate surreptitiously to Haytham. With a brief nod, Adira looks back to the soldier who finally finds his feet. With his nose still bleeding and his eye sockets bruising quickly, Adira finds herself daring him to approach her again, her eyes flashing dangerously. 

  
‘You’ll get yours, Kane. Mark my words.’ The soldier’s voice is muffled beneath his hand which is still cupped around his bleeding nose, blood spilling through his fingers and dripping. 

  
‘Consider them marked.’ Adira says coolly.

  
Growling angrily, he hisses his frustration through his clenched teeth and staggers to the door and into the street. With a quick look at Adrian, who nods approvingly at Adira’s restraint, they approach Haytham. Adira’s altercation had done little to relieve the writhing knot in her stomach. In fact, it only seemed to tighten. Adira looks to Haytham who merely smiles and regards her thoughtfully.

  
‘What happened to sentiment over steel, Miss Kane?’ asked Haytham, his eyebrow raised.

  
‘I’m afraid that rule doesn’t extend to arseholes.’ Adira folds her arms and feels the knot in her stomach relax momentarily. With an amused smile, Haytham spent a moment enjoying Adira’s brutal honesty. 

  
Collecting her thoughts and pulling her gaze away from Haytham’s smile, Adira turns to Adrian and gestures to him. 

‘This is my friend and training partner, Adrian Jackson. Thunder Jack to his friends.’ 

Silently, she hoped Haytham would not ask about the origins of the nickname. She now wished she had not mentioned it at all. 

‘Adrian, this is Haytham Kenway.’ Adrian grips Haytham’s outstretched hand and shakes firmly. As was his way, Haytham bowed his head courteously and returned his hands to his back. Looking at the two men now, they appeared to be polar opposites. Adrian was fair and unkempt, and his clothes hung loosely from his tattooed and significantly thinner and leaner frame. Haytham was meticulous and well presented, no matter the occasion. He was taller and his physique was certainly stronger and more muscular than Adrian's. Adira allowed her eyes to wander over Haytham as he regarded Adrian. He was an imposing and handsome figure. He radiated authority. From her position, she could just smell the faint aroma of tea and parchment again. Lingering a little too long, Adira averts her gaze quickly as the Grand Master's eyes lock with hers.

  
Snapping his grey eyes back to Adrian, Haytham considers the young man for a moment. ‘Dare I ask why you are called Thunder Jack?’

  
With a salacious wink at Sofia who finally enters the tavern and regards him with a lustful gaze, Adrian turns to Haytham and grins.‘I hit like a hammer in more ways than one.’ 

Sofia, overhearing Adrian’s comment, bursts into a fit of girlish giggles as she heads to the bar and waits for him. 

  
Adira hides her head in her hand, screwing her eyes shut. She pinches the bridge of her nose and cannot hold back her sarcasm, letting out an amused hum. Adrian had a unique way of lowering the standard of conversation in any context. 

‘I maintain it is because you are all noise, Adrian.’ She mocks and crosses her arms in front of her and looks to Adrian, daring him to find a way to once again lower the tone. He met her challenge and relished in the deviancy of his response. 

  
‘If you think I’m all noise, you should hear Sofia when we get into a rhythm.’ He arches both his eyebrows playfully and he grins unapologetically at Adira, elbowing her gently. With a deviant grin, he winks unashamedly at Haytham who raises an eyebrow and lowers his head, his face partially hidden by his tricorn. Adrian’s bright blue eyes dart to Sofia who sips her ale and continues to blush profusely. 

  
‘It’s been a pleasure, but I mustn’t keep my young lady waiting. You should come by the club sometime. I’m sure our Hurri-Kane won’t mind showing you around.’ Adrian smiles widely at Haytham and turns to Adira, resting his hands on her shoulders. 

  
‘Try not to break anyone else’s face.’ He laughs and places a fleeting kiss on her forehead, relishing the glowering stare she gives him before he leaves her in the company of the Grand Master. Closing her eyes slowly and biting back her sarcasm, an act which physically pains her, she turns to face Haytham, expecting him to berate Adrian and his lack of social etiquette. 

  
‘Shall we?’ Haytham says with a smile and gestures to the back of the tavern. Adira nods and follows him, watching the punters shift silently to clear a path.  
‘Your friend Adrian is quite the character.’ Haytham pauses and stands behind one of the two chairs a few feet or so from the fire which burns gently, looking at Adira and motioning for her to sit and make herself comfortable. 

‘He is rather frank about his corporeal appetite.’ 

  
Standing with his back to the fire and his hands behind his back, he slowly twists his Templar ring around his finger. Finding he could not resist stealing a glance as Adira removed her jacket, Haytham allowed his eyes to drift down her thick, plaited hair, down her pale neck and onto the black straps over her broad shoulders. Following the straps down, his eyes linger on the gentle rising and falling of her curved chest and down to her corset which reveals the curvature of her lean torso. His eyes continue to wander as she rolls up her sleeves and adjusts the collar on her shirt. The bruises across her fingers and knuckles still shine angrily, not helped by Adira’s most recent altercation. Snapping his gaze back up to her dark eyes, he smiles as she rests her jacket on the chair and begins to speak, oblivious to his wandering gaze. 

  
‘I’m certain the second circle of Hell has been emptied in preparation for Adrian’s eventual arrival.’ She jokes and finally sits down and sighs contentedly, watching the flames lick the logs and spark gently. Haytham smiles, impressed by Adira’s familiarity with the literature of the world and the work of Dante. He imagined her leafing through tomes and gently fingering pages in the few hours she spent away from the ring. Pulling himself from his thoughts, he regards her again.

  
‘You appear to have gained a nickname, Miss Kane. When combined with your first name, it is most fitting.’ Adira’s dark eyes flicker in the light and she pushes herself back into the chair, rolling her wrists and looking expectantly at Haytham with a smile, allowing him to continue.

  
‘Adira… it means strong in Hebrew.’ Haytham felt her name linger on his lips and gently tingle as it left. He had never addressed her as Adira directly. For a moment, he remembered how he had mispronounced Ziio’s name multiple times, at great embarrassment to himself. The thought was fleeting, and he was soon tugged from it.

  
‘My grandfather’s suggestion. A man of the world and all her knowledge. What of your name, Grand Master?’ Adira paused before she spoke his name, allowing herself time to enjoy the shape of it before it departed. ‘Haytham…?’

  
‘It is Arabic or at least derived from Arabic. It means young eagle.’ Adira’s recalls the eagle emblazoned on Haytham’s cuff and smiles.   
‘Magnificent creatures. They possess a remarkable clarity of vision and are fearsome hunters.’ A smile curls Adira’s lips as she looks back up at Haytham, understanding a little more about her mentor. Seeing his smile and the expectancy in his grey eyes, she continues to verbalise her thoughts.   
‘Names hold such prophetic power. They tend to adumbrate the fate of their owners…’ 

She looks thoughtfully at Haytham and begins to press and massage her fingers again. Adira knew he was a hunter of a kind. He was certainly dangerous. The blade on his wrist and the one at his side had no doubt tasted blood but Adira had no reason to fear him. 

  
She pitied his prey. 

  
Haytham considered Adira’s insightful assessment and smiled briefly. 

‘An astute assessment, Miss Kane.’ He released a low hum in agreement. 

Adira’s words once again laid him bare before her though he had said little. He was a firm believer in the power of words, and she wielded them with wisdom and the precision of the sharpened steel at his side. He reflected for a moment. He possessed an extraordinary gift – eagle vision - and he had hunted and silenced a great many men in the name of The Order. His father had been an assassin and perhaps his gifts were intended to aid the Brotherhood, but the life his parents had intended for him ended the night the house in Queen Anne’s Square burnt down and his father lay before him, dying with a sword through his chest. He idolised his father, much like Adira idolised hers. Their fathers had given them the means to craft a life from the ashes, through clenched fists and brandished steel. 

  
Adira did not press Haytham, seeing his smile fade as he thought once more. Though his face remained passive and soft, his subtle and extended inhalation of breath suggested she had disturbed a memory he did not wish to discuss. He was a man with a great many pains in his past. He was an amalgam of sorrow hidden beneath charm, sarcasm and steel. 

  
Looking to Adira’s hands, Haytham sees the deep bruises shine in the flickering light of the fire. Before he can verbalise his thoughts, a loud cry of recognition from the back of the tavern stops him. 

  
‘Mr. Kenway!’ 

  
Haytham turns and a smile appears as he recognises the tavern owner, Cornelius Douglass, ascending the stairs from the basement.  
‘What will you and your lady be needing?’ Cornelius brushes his hands together. With a quick slam of the basement door, Catherine curses him under her breath and is about to berate him before she notices Haytham. Blushing profusely, she appears to physically melt at the sight of him. Adira conceals a wry smile beneath her gently clasped hands. She leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees, watching the exchange quietly.

  
Trying to maintain his pleasant smile, though it is distinctly brief, Haytham addresses the man and his admirer. 

‘Cornelius. Miss Kerr. A pleasure as always.’ His words were gentlemanly but strained as he addressed Catherine and Adira saw his eyes flash back to her as she felt the edges of her amused smile spread beyond her clasped hands. Noting her enjoyment of his discomfort, a half-smile forms as he addresses her again.

  
‘Miss Kane? Would you care for a whiskey perhaps?’

  
‘Miss Kane?’ A perplexed look twists Cornelius’ face as he looks at Adira more closely and down to her black knuckles. Catherine’s eyes lose their lustful intensity and become hard and flint-like as she finally looks at Adira, her eyes wandering over her lean build, her pale skin and thick, plaited hair. Youthful and intense. She clenched her jaw and shot Adira a look that would have caused a lesser woman to falter, but Adira was not a lesser woman. 

  
‘Adira Kane! The Hurri-Kane!? I can’t believe you’re in my tavern!’ Beaming excitedly, Cornelius cannot help but bounce on his heels. Gushing and eyes wide, he continues. 

‘I won a lot of money on your last fight, Miss.’ He winks at Adira and gently pats his jacket pocket which jingles a little. In a hushed tone, he continues. ‘There’s talk you’ll be competing for The Blacksmith’s Arms title this month?’ 

  
Adira laughs to herself. News travelled quickly in Boston. She smiles warmly and nods, humbled by his admiration of her. ‘Indeed.’ 

‘You mind yerself, Miss. He ain’t called Benjamin ‘King’ Cross for nothing.’ A weak smile crosses his face, his excitability briefly snuffed by the concern in his voice and eyes.

Haytham looks at Adira, his previously passive countenance now etched with thin lines as he furrows his brow and clasps his hands a little tighter. He sees the spark ignite behind Adira’s eyes and he feels the muscles in his abdomen tighten as he allows himself time to fully appreciate her intensity as she speaks. Her resolve was unwavering and absolute, much like his own. 

  
‘I will bury that brute in the sand along with his crown.’ 

  
Cornelius smiles widely at her words and his eyes flash. ‘I’ll be sure to place down a bet!’ He grins and looks at Catherine, whose face has soured significantly. ‘Come on woman, I gotta get the drinks!’ He ushers Catherine out into the tavern, her eyes lingering on Haytham until the last moment.

Twisting his Templar ring, Haytham shifts his weight and turns to consider Adira, who is leant forward with her hands pressed to her face, covering her nose and mouth. 

  
‘What do you know of Benjamin Cross, Miss Kane?’ His eyes are dark and penetrating, his shoulders holding tension and his brow knitting subtly. Dropping her hands, Adira watches the flames in the fire begin to die down, the embers in the grate burning brightly.   
Releasing a long breath, she turns her head and locks eyes with Haytham.

‘He has held his title for the last 2 years. The last person who tried to depose him suffered with concussion, broken ribs, and extensive bruising.’  
Grimacing at the thought and recalling the length of his own recovery from the sword wound through his abdomen, he pressed Adira. Keeping his tone steady. 

‘What happened to them?’

  
‘Well at this precise moment in time he’s sating his corporeal appetite...’ 

  
‘Adrian.’ Haytham says quietly. His face softens and his lips part. His eyes focused completely on Adira. ‘Does he know? That you are to fight Benjamin?’

  
Shaking her head, she bites her lip - she hadn’t even told her father for fear he would not understand her thirst for revenge. That his need to protect her would stop her sating her hunger. Her body tenses and she presses her thumbs into her palms as her eyes drift from Haytham and back to the embers in the grate. Her mind flashes with images of Adrian’s limp and battered form. The sleepless nights. His shallow breaths. The cold cloths on his fevered forehead. His pleading for her to end his suffering in his conscious moments. 

  
‘I was there the night it happened…’ The words tumble from her lips, slowly and faintly as her eyes glaze and lose their focus. Haytham inclines his head and listens intently.   
‘Adrian tried to end the fight, he conceded but Benjamin did not relent. Adrian had nothing left. Nothing.’ Adira pauses and closes her eyes for a moment, exhaling through her nose and continuing.   
‘He beat Adrian within an inch of his life… I still remember.’ She opens her eyes and turns her head, not meeting Haytham’s gaze. Fury and frustration snaking into her words.   
‘My friend reduced to a bloodied heap in the sand at the merciless hands of Benjamin Cross.’ Her eyes harden and her jaw clenches as she looks to her own bruises. She forces her thumb deep into her palm, pulling the skin and agitating her injuries.

  
‘You cannot blame yourself for what happened to Adrian, Miss Kane.’ Haytham’s eyes briefly flit over her writhing hands, grimacing at her purposeful exacerbation of her injuries.   
Looking at Haytham, Adira smiles briefly and feels her bruises bite her angrily. He said nothing but only shifted his weight, his eyes soft and understanding. He slowly turns the ring on his finger and allows Adira time to speak. Pushing herself up from her chair, she folds her arms across her chest and stands by the fire, her stance strong and her eyes focused.

  
‘I do not want Benjamin’s title, Master Kenway.’ Adira says steadily as she turns to face Haytham, now only arm’s length away. Her eyes meeting his.

  
‘I want his blood.’ 

  
Haytham struggled to break her gaze. Her absolute hatred of Benjamin Cross. Her unwavering loyalty to her friend. Her thirst for blood. Her desire to inflict pain. It was all there in her eyes. Dark and damaged and dangerous. 

He shifts his weight and leans, feeling her desire for revenge permeate every fibre of her being. For a moment, his eyes deviate to her pale skin, to her full lips and the tightening of her jaw. The light from the fire only adding to her ferocity. 

  
‘Miss Kane… I…’ he began. 

  
The chirpy whistling of Cornelius snapped Haytham’s gaze from Adira’s. Straightening up, Haytham acknowledges Cornelius with a brief smile. Uncorking the whiskey, Cornelius presses the tumblers into Haytham and Adira’s hands and pours the liquid sloppily into them. 

  
‘Only the best bottle for The Hurri-Kane. On the house.’ He grins widely as he pours, sending Adira a wink. He leaves the bottle on the table and departs, leaving Haytham and Adira alone once more. Adira swirls her whiskey in the tumbler, enjoying how the colour shifts in the flickering light of the fire. She exhales, releasing her tension and anger, leaving her eyes to smoulder softly. 

  
She raises her glass and dips her head to Haytham with a reserved smile, hoping to lighten the mood. ‘Your good health, Master Kenway.’ 

  
‘Oh no… to you, Miss Kane…’ Haytham pauses, allowing Adira to begin draining the liquid following an exchange of warm smiles. 

  
‘…the only woman I have met who can taunt, strike and restrain an opponent without spilling her drink.’ 

  
The last few drops of amber liquid spray from Adira’s mouth and she pulls the tumbler away rapidly, her wide eyes snapping to Haytham whose lips curl into a satisfied and amused smile. He savours the brief red flush through her cheeks and the tightening of her form before raising his glass and draining it. 

  
Allowing Haytham to take her empty tumbler, Adira’s breath hitches as his fingers brush hers softly. Hiding her breathlessness behind a grateful smile, she locks eyes with Haytham again. His own mind circling back to their meeting this morning. Her skin pressed to his. 

The smell of whiskey diminishes long enough for her to just catch the hint of tea and parchment again. The pleasant tingle of his touch lingers on her bruised and calloused hands. With his own pulse threatening to run away with him, Haytham steps back to the table slowly and lifts the bottle, pouring another round. Clearing his throat and concentrating, he finally remembers why he asked Adira here in the first place.

  
‘If you wish to best Benjamin Cross, we must ensure you are ready. When may I expect you for training?’   
Finally releasing her breath, Adira forces her pulse to slow and her thoughts to cease. She relaxes her shoulders, reassured by Haytham’s words. He wanted to help her defeat Benjamin. He understood. 

  
‘Every afternoon, Master Kenway. I train with Adrian in the mornings, though he may well be decidedly absent tomorrow…’ She hears the girlish giggles and squeaks of Sofia and the loud raucous laughter of Adrian in the general din of tavern noise. Laughing to herself, she shakes her head and folds her arms. 

  
Turning and pacing back to Adira, Haytham smiles warmly as he presses the tumbler into her open hand, feeling her fingers brush his gently. He inches a little closer than before, his stomach hungering for the sensation only Adira’s presence seemed to satisfy. 

‘If you find yourself in need of a sparring partner tomorrow morning, Miss Kane, you need only ask. As your mentor, I am responsible for ensuring your training is comprehensive.’ 

  
‘You spar, Master Kenway?’ Adira smiles, looking to his sabre and his hands, lingering on his knuckles which were pronounced but in a better condition than hers. Her eyes flick back up to the half smile across his lips and up to his eyes again.

  
‘It is within my repertoire, Miss Kane.’ 

  
Adira wondered what wasn’t in his repertoire. Her eyes flared as she imagined him as her opponent. He was taller, stronger, and more experienced. Relishing the challenge, her mind wandered and before she could consider her words, she smiled and let them slip from her lips.

  
‘Are you sure you can handle me, Master Kenway?’ Adira’s normal sarcastic delivery was subtly replaced by a playful tone which caused Haytham’s eyes to widen and his pulse to quicken again. 

  
‘I would certainly like to try, Miss Kane.’ He watched as Adira’s eyes flitted down to his lips, lingering. She shifted her weight, inching closer to his chest. Haytham struggled to remain steady, to stop himself from leaning in. Adira ‘s eyes held the same fire they did when she fought… 

  
‘I hope I’m not interrupting, Grand Master...’

  
Recognising the unmistakeable voice, Haytham pulls back from Adira and looks to the smiling figure leaning against the vertical beam.   
‘Shay!’ A wide smile appears across Haytham’s face. 

He clears his throat and meets Adira’s gaze just for a moment more - the fire doused, billowing like volcanic ash, the warmth fading, the moment lost. Wrenching himself from her presence, he places his tumbler down on the table and beckons Shay in. 

  
With an odd sense of relief that it had not been Charles who had interrupted, Adira moves to the table to pour another drink to distract herself from her thoughts. She could not recall how many she had consumed but she had yet to feel its effects – a testament to her own vice. 

Watching the two men, Adira noted their relationship was different to that of the one Haytham had with Charles. Shay spoke with a thick Irish accent and had darker features. The long scar across his eye, combined with his armoured attire, flintlock pistols and sword suggested Shay was a hunter, much like the Grand Master. Allowing her eyes to flick back, she watches Haytham exchange a few quiet words with Shay who listens intently and nods. Looking down, Adira retrieves the tumbler and presses it to her lips, pausing to see Haytham’s hand on Shay’s shoulder and both men smiling at her.

  
‘I was told you like a drink, Miss Kane.’ Shay laughs a little and looks to Haytham who continues to smile, his eyes soft and his hand guiding Shay forward.

  
‘I have not yet begun to defile myself; I can assure you.’ Adira smiles and swiftly downs the liquid and lets out a satisfied hiss through her teeth, placing the tumbler down next to Haytham’s. She walks around her chair and towards the Grand Master, pulling her jacket from it as she passes. 

  
Haytham’s eyes flick down to the jacket Adira has rested over her arm and his stomach tightens and swirls. His smile weakens. Adira watches Haytham straighten and slide his hand from Shay’s shoulder, gesturing to Adira. 

  
‘Miss Adira Kane, this is Shay Cormac – a fellow Templar. He will assist me with your training.’ 

  
‘Pleased to meet you, lass.’ Shay smiles warmly and takes Adira’s hand, noting the bruises and shaking gently. 

  
‘Likewise.’ Adira returns his smile. She turns to Haytham as she begins to pull on her jacket tugging the fabric around her waist in preparation for the night air. Before she can utter a word, Haytham speaks.

  
‘Allow me to see you out, Miss Kane.’ He turns to Shay and nods curtly before following Adira through the thrum of people and out into the night air. 

  
Inhaling deeply, Adira looks heavenward at the stars just beginning to appear in the void. Haytham smiles, pressing his hands behind his back and following her gaze up. The sounds of Boston muted against the stillness of the evening and the cool breeze. Pulling her collar up, Adira watches as Haytham finally pulls his gaze from the stars and locks eyes with her. The fire within them was distant now, flickering like the constellations in the nebulous night sky above them. His chest tightens and his stomach hungers once more.

  
The unspoken words filled the space between them but Adira’s warm smile was enough to dispel the tension and quell the tightness in the Grand Master’s chest. 

  
‘Until tomorrow, Grand Master.’ 

  
‘Until tomorrow, Miss Kane.’

  
Haytham touches his tricorn and dips his head, his eyes lingering on her for a moment as she walks back down Union Street. Smiling to himself, he turns and enters the tavern, unaware that Adira’s lips had curled into a wide smile and her cheeks held enough heat to combat any evening breeze. 


	6. Chapter 6

Swinging the axe up, Adira twists her fingers tightly around the handle and brings the blade down hard, cleaving her target open.

Wrenching the axe up and wiping her brow, she collects the splintered log and throws it half-heartedly onto the mounting pile in the woodshed. The sun had risen only a few hours ago but sleep had eluded Adira once she had returned to The Black Bear Tavern last night. Her thoughts collided and cascaded and she struggled to remain still. Even a hot bath and continuing to read her grandfather’s journals had not quieted her mind. 

Burying the axe into the stump, Adira brushes her hands together and looks down the path and between the scatterings of houses for any sign of Adrian. Shielding her eyes from the low sun, she shakes her head and walks into the long barn. 

Untying the length of rope, she wraps the excess around her hands and begins to skip again. Lightly and quickly. Faster. Faster. Heel. Toe. Heel Toe. Pushing herself, she focuses on her footwork and her balance. Feeling the sweat bead on her forehead, she alternates her movement and begins to shift her weight – sidestepping and reversing the rope rotation.   
‘Miss Adira?’ Thomas whispers from the doorway of the barn. His eyes are wide with intrigue.

Turning her head, Adira smiles warmly and brings the rope to rest. Catching her breath, she looks at the young man in his frock coat and breeches. ‘Good morning, Thomas.’

‘Are you busy training?’ Thomas asks with an edge of hope in his question.

‘As a matter of fact, I’ve just finished.' Adira begins to unravel the rope from her hands and wipes her brow. ‘What can I do for you young man?’

‘Mr. Kane is still asleep, but I wanted to deliver his letters… Only I don’t know where some of the places are and I was wondering if you’d help me find them.’ Thomas speaks tentatively and shuffles a little as he speaks.

Gathering the length of rope up, Adira rests her hand on his shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. ‘Of course. Let me grab my jacket and we’ll head into town when you’re ready.’ Nodding enthusiastically, Thomas bolts back to the main building. 

Smiling to herself, Adira rolls her sleeves back down to her wrists and splays her hands. The bruises on her knuckles had lost their intensity and no longer pained her. Taking the opportunity and making use of the long, flagstone floor in the barn, Adira hangs the rope back up and paces to the top end of the building. With a half-smile, she bolts and launches into a powerful set of handsprings and somersaults, holding herself balanced as she finishes at the other end of the barn. 

‘You should join the circus…’ 

Leaning heavily against the frame of the barn door, Adrian manages a semi-conscious smile after stifling a yawn. The dark bags underneath his barely focused eyes telling Adira all she needed to know. 

‘Good night was it?’ Adira asks with a heavy helping of sarcasm and a chuckle as she brushes past him and out into the courtyard. Adrian was in no state to spar with her and an odd wave of relief drowned her confusing disappointment at seeing Adrian at the barn door. 

Retrieving her jacket from the fence surrounding the field, Adira threads her arms through and pulls it around her. Thomas brushes passed Adrian, tucking the collection of letters into his jacket and adjusting his sleeves before sliding his fingers through Adira’s. 

Watching Adrian search for the words he needed to construct his apology proved too painful for Adira to watch. It was not the first time he had missed their session and it would not be the last. After what he had been through, training to fight for titles was not a priority for Adrian anymore and Adira respected that. 

‘It’s alright Adrian, really. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.’ Adira smiles reassuringly at him. With a sigh of relief, Adrian walks towards Adira and cups her face gently. He bends and presses a kiss into the top of her head and pulls back with an appreciative smile. 

‘Anyway, Mr Kenway offered to be my sparring partner if you were… indisposed.’

‘I bet he did… ‘ Adrian chuckles with a wide smile. ‘Try not to break him…’ 

Adrian sends Adira a wink and stifles another yawn before stretching and heading into the club to, undoubtedly, curl up and finally sleep.

Forcing the heat from her cheeks at Adrian’s comment, Adira looks at Thomas who regards Adrian with puzzlement. With a smile and a shake of her head, she pulls him from his thoughts and the questions he so desperately wanted to ask.   
‘Come Thomas, let us be off.’ Adira says brightly before setting a brisk pace into town. Heart pounding and thoughts racing. 

***  
Having helped Thomas deliver the letters and ensure he was paid appropriately for their delivery, Adira bought a bag of sweet buns from the baker for him to take back to the club and had sent him on his way. 

Releasing a long breath, Adira pressed the latch down on the door and entered The Green Dragon. Noting the distinct lack of patrons as compared with last night, Adira hears the clinking of glasses and tankards from behind the bar. Smiling to herself, she approaches quietly and listens to Cornelius string several profanities together. Remaining silent, Adira rests her arm upon the bar and drums her fingers. The profanities cease and Cornelius bolts upright with a sweaty brow and flushed cheeks.

‘Miss Kane!’ Cornelius’ eyes widen.   
‘Pardon my cursin’... Catherine’s got me on clean up this mornin’.’ 

‘Do not worry yourself, Cornelius.’ Adira laughs and reassures him.

Smiling widely, Cornelius wipes his brow with his shirt sleeve and places the empty glasses on the bar. ‘What brings you in ‘ere this mornin’? Bit early in the day for you ain’t it?’

Looking around and up to the landing, Adira poses her question, her stomach tightening and all her focus forced into steadying her voice. ‘Is Master Kenway here?’ 

A knowing smile spread across Cornelius’ face. ‘That he is, Miss Kane. Catherine took him some tea up not ‘alf hour ago. Shall I tell ‘im you’re ‘ere?’

‘I would appreciate that, Cornelius. Thank you.’ Adira says coolly, aware her muscles had once again caused her form to become rigid with tension. 

Watching Cornelius grip the bannister and climb the stairs, Adira hears the distant knock and her breath catches. Holding it in her lungs, she stills herself and strains to hear. The voices are muffled and Adira curses herself internally for disturbing the Grand Master’s morning. 

Hearing the exchange conclude, Adira sees Cornelius return to the landing and watches intently as he fiddles with the keys on his belt loop. As he descends, his smile brings her a modicum of comfort. 

‘He’ll be down in jus’ a moment, Miss Kane. I’m to unlock the back room for you.’ Cornelius smiles and beckons Adira to the back of the tavern. Releasing the breath she was holding, Adira relaxes her shoulders. Cornelius slips a large key into the lock and jostles it until it clicks. Pulling the key and pocketing it, he pushes the door ajar and steps back. 

‘Let me know if you’ll be needing anythin’ Miss.’ He gestures into the room and smiles warmly.

With an acknowledging nod, Adira steps into the back room and takes comfort in the familiarity of her surroundings. The room was now used to store odds and ends but it had once been used for fighting. The wooden panelling still formed the circle of the ring and the sand still held the impact craters of the last fight. 

Taking a deep breath, Adira pulls her jacket from her body and tosses it over the chair in the corner. Adjusting her collar, she begins to pace quietly to the ring. Gripping the sides, she leans over and notices the dried blood caking the exposed boards. Her eyes dart to the black board still hanging on the wall but the names of the fighters had long since faded. Curiosity tugging at her, she turns to find Cornelius.

Adira stops short.

‘Good morning, Miss Kane.’ Haytham smiles from the doorway and steps in, pulling the door shut behind him. He presses his hands behind his back and approaches Adira, curious to see what had caught her attention in the sand. 

Adira had only ever seen Haytham in his frock coat and tricorn, armed to the teeth for combat. Seeing him now in just his boots, breeches and white linen shirt dispelled all thoughts from her head and dried her mouth. Gathering herself, Adira meets his eyes and returns his smile.   
‘Good morning, Master Kenway.’

‘I take it Adrian found himself incapable of sparring with you this morning?’ Haytham stands next to Adira and allows his eyes to wander to the blood-soaked boards.

‘That’s one way of putting it…’ Adira let out a small sigh which rolled through into a chuckle. Pressing her thumb into her palm, she looks up at Haytham who raises an eyebrow and turns his head a little to listen. Adira allows the nagging thought at the back of her head to form on her tongue and pass her lips. 

‘I hope in coming here I haven’t interrupted your work, Grand Master.’ Adira rubbed the back of her neck, her chest tightening. 

‘I…,’ Adira pauses and considers her words carefully before she meets Haytham’s gaze. 

‘I do not wish to burden you with additional responsibility.’ Adira sighs softly, guilt tugging at her. 

Haytham’s features soften and an understanding smile curls his lips. 'Nonsense, Miss Kane. This was my suggestion after all.'   
In truth, training was one of the duties Haytham relished as Grand Master and he found that despite completing a great deal of paperwork this morning, his focus wavered and he caught himself hoping Adrian would neglect his training regime. 

Turning to face Haytham, Adira relaxes at his words and watches as he begins to roll up his sleeves. Snatching the slither of confidence amongst the waves of tension, she rests her hand gently on his forearm. Haytham pauses and his eyes flick from her hand up to her eyes. 

‘Thank you.’ Adira speaks quietly and with absolute sincerity. With a warm smile, she squeezes Haytham’s arm and slowly pulls away as his eyes widen and he manages to collect his thoughts enough to respond with an acknowledging nod and a brief smile. 

Turning and allowing Haytham to finish rolling his sleeves up uninterrupted, Adira swings herself into the ring and shifts the sand with her boots to cover the bare, blood-soaked floor boards.   
Still feeling Adira’s touch on his skin, Haytham steals himself against his thoughts and steps over the boundary of the ring without issue. 

Adira readies her stance and takes a moment to fully appreciate her opponent - her mentor. Grand Master Haytham Kenway. Watching him roll his shoulders, Adira notices the visible planes of his chest through his shirt. His broad shoulders and tight thighs in his breeches. In that moment, she became acutely aware of how much taller he was than her - how much larger. His hand could encompass her entire throat without issue. He was formidable. Dangerous and dignified. Adira swallowed and felt her dry lips part. Exhaling gently, she clicks her knuckles and rolls her head, hoping to ease out the tension building in her body. 

‘Do not worry, Miss Kane. I promise to go easy on you.’ Haytham states dryly, catching her lingering gaze from the corner of his eye. He flexes his hands and shoots Adira a half-smile. 

‘Indeed. Someone your age shouldn’t push themselves too hard…’ Adira teases, knowing full well he was in incredibly good-shape despite being almost 10 years her senior.

Cocking an eyebrow, he lets out a short chuckle. ‘With age comes experience, Miss Kane.’He prepares his stance and watches as Adira mirrors him; her eyes focused on his. The unmistakable spark ignites behind Adira’s dark irises and Haytham feels the corner of his mouth turn up into a smile and his abdomen tighten. 

Exhaling, Adira bolts forward and throws the first punch. 

Haytham blocks and redirects her power away from him. Thrusting her fist up, he shifts his weight and her fist glances off his shirt. Forcing him back, he holds his guard and protects his core. Feeling a momentary release from her barrage, he thrusts his fist forward but Adira darts her head and swings her leg up and around, ready to make contact with the side of his head. 

Parrying her boot, Adira rotates and swings out with the other leg. Grunting, Haytham grips her calf under his arm and forces Adira to spin using her momentum. Rounding on her, his fists connect with her forearms and glance off. 

Stepping to avoid Haytham’s jab to her jaw, he slips his fist beneath her elbows and into her abdomen, causing her lungs to expel her breath. Reaching forward and wrenching her up, he wraps his arm around her neck in a chokehold. 

He presses her body into his and feels her writhe in his grip, desperate to break his hold. He felt her fire – her ferocity even when she trained. It burned intensely and radiated from her pale skin.

Desperately trying to focus on breaking Haytham’s grip, Adira feels the muscles in his arms tighten and his firm chest press into her back. Closing her fingers around his forearm, Adira wraps her leg around his and pulls hard, shifting Haytham’s weight. With clenched teeth and a grunt of effort, she pulls his full weight across her back and over her body and sends him crashing to the floor. 

Holding his arm in hers, she smiles triumphantly. 

Cocking an eyebrow, Haytham smiles wryly.

With a gasp, Adira’s legs are swiped out from beneath her and she slumps back heavily into the sand, winding her again.  
Clutching her torso and trying to retrieve her breath, Adira feels Haytham’s full weight press into her as he wrenches her arms up by the side of her head and straddles her.

‘Do you concede Miss Kane?’ Haytham asks steadily as he regains his breath. The scar in his torso begins to twinge but he maintains his grip on Adira and focuses. He feels her chest rise and fall and catches wisps of lavender in the air around her and on her pale skin.

Regaining her breath from her winding, Adira relaxes her body. Assessing her situation, she writhes a little and twists, feigning helplessness.

‘I’ve never conceded to anyone, Grand Master…’ Adira turns her head to see Haytham’s strong hands wrapped around her wrists. 

Haytham’s pulse quickens at the defiance threaded into Adira’s words despite her being subdued. Seeing her gaze shift, he risks a fleeting glance at her features as she lies beneath him. The slender line of her neck. Her high cheek bones and strong jaw. The ties of her shirt lying against her gently rising and falling chest.   
The adrenaline in Adira’s veins pumps furiously and she turns her head back to look at Haytham who wears a self-satisfied smile. 

‘I take great pride in being the first and, I hope, the only, Miss Kane.’ A playful smile curls Haytham’s lips. His voice is low and close and Adira catches the subtle tones of citrus laced through his breath.

Cocking her eyebrow, Adira wets her lips and watches Haytham’s eyes flick down to them before returning to meet her gaze. A half-smile curls the corner of her mouth. 

'Pride comes before a fall, Grand Master.’ 

With his pulse threatening to run away with him, Haytham loosens his grip and pushes his weight back to stand. 

Adira seizes the opportunity.

Pulling her knees up into his back, she thrusts her hips up into him and uses his fleeting imbalance to regain control. Wrapping her arms around his torso, she swipes his arm from beneath him and rolls his heavy body off hers and into the sand. Pressing her weight into him, she throws her legs over his lower torso and wraps her fingers around his wrists, struggling to connect her fingers. Pressing the tip of her boots into his shins, Adira catches her breath and straightens. 

‘Care to retract your last statement, Grand Master?’ Adira smiles and relishes the brief flash of disbelief in his grey eyes. Releasing her grip, Haytham pushes himself up and rests on his elbows.

‘We could struggle like this forever more, Miss Kane…’ He muses, resisting the urge to wrap his arm around her waist and pin her again. He took a moment to appreciate the swiftness with which she had assessed and reversed her situation by feigning helplessness. Clever. 

Without warning, he clenches his jaw and winces. Screwing his eyes shut, he releases a hiss through his teeth. He adjusts his torso as the scar across his abdomen spasms painfully. 

‘Master Kenway?’ Adira asks, her voice soft with concern and her eyes boring into his. 

‘It’s nothing.’ Haytham digresses and sits up a little more, resting his hand across his torso. With a pained and brief smile, he watches as Adira pulls her weight back and stands, offering him her hand. 

With a surprising amount of force, Adira pulls Haytham from the floor and sees his hand tighten around his torso as he towers over her. Wincing at his discomfort, Adira recalls a collection of distant memories. Without a word, she takes Haytham’s free hand in her own and lightly presses the tips of two fingers into his palm. 

‘Miss Kane?’ Haytham queries, his voice strained. Her fingers tingled against his skin. Close and comforting.

‘Trust me, Master Kenway. Focus on my touch.’ Adira replies softly and quietly but does not meet his gaze.

Slowly, she begins to lightly draw two fingers across his calloused skin and over the deep creases in his palm. Brushing gently, she moves her own fingers up to the tips of his and back down. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Repeatedly. 

Adira feels the tension in his body easing and his grip loosening on his torso.   
With three of her fingers, she traces the length of his index finger and returns down its side, up and over his thumb and down to his wrist. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Haytham rotates his hand slowly, surrendering to her touch. 

Feeling the spasming settle and the pain subside, Haytham considers the young woman. His scar plagued his days and nights and was a constant reminder of his past and of his failures, but Adira’s touch - her presence - banished the pain and the ghosts from his body and his mind found rest. 

Haytham meets Adira’s gaze as she pulls her hand from his. ‘You didn’t have to do that, Miss Kane.’   
His eyes soften and his lips curl into an appreciative smile.   
‘Thank you.’

Nodding in acknowledgement and steadying her breathing, Adira smiles warmly and pulls her gaze from his, kicking the sand idly and stepping away in an attempt to regain her composure.   
‘A trick my mother used when father’s scars would pain him. I’m afraid my technique is considerably less gentle.’ Adira muses and considers her own calloused hands and the fading bruises across her knuckles.

‘You must give yourself more credit, Miss Kane.’ Adira’s gaze snaps up and Haytham watches as her lips curl into a smile.

Holding his wrist against his torso with one hand, Haytham clears his throat and changes the subject.   
‘I noticed your guard slips when you are under pressure from your opponent. Perhaps we can work through that together?’ He drops his hands and relaxes, tilting his head a little. 

‘I would appreciate your guidance, Master Kenway.’ Adira says steadily, aware her cheeks were trying their utmost to betray her otherwise collected composure. She was thankful for Haytham’s insight and though her less - than - regular training sessions with Adrian allowed her to practice, they did not provide a means to pinpoint problems or progress. 

Taking up her basic guarded position, Haytham takes a moment to assess her defensive stance. Noticing the defined muscles in Adira’s forearms and the way her corset accentuated her powerful form, Haytham found himself twisting his Templar ring around his finger again. Pressing his hands behind his back, he paces around Adira who watches him through the corner of her eye but maintains her position. 

‘If you would permit me, Miss Kane?’ 

Catching her breath, Adira feels Haytham approach her, his hands reaching forward over her shoulders slowly and his face only inches from hers. Glancing to her left, Adira sees his grey irises and his dark pupils fixed forward. His breath is warm against her skin and she catches the distinct accent of cedar wood laced through his hair.   
Snapping her eyes forward, Adira watches as he guides her forearms with his hands. Leaning into her, he widens the space between her clenched fists a little to clear her field of vision.   
‘When defending, you must see past the punches and focus on your opponent. Do not allow yourself to become distracted, Miss Kane.'

Clenching her fists a little tighter, Adira steels herself from her thoughts and focuses on Haytham’s words. The baritone timbre of his voice sends rippling tingles through Adira’s skin. Her pulse quickens and she hopes Haytham cannot feel it through her wrists.

Pulling back, Haytham savours Adira’s drumming pulse against his own before releasing his grip and returning to face her. Assessing her stance again, he meets her gaze and smiles. 

‘Stay centred and balanced, Miss Kane. Do not allow your opponent any opportunity to infiltrate your defence.’

Licking her lips to combat the dryness which had creeped in once again, Adira nods and loosens up for a moment. Rolling her shoulders and bouncing on the balls of her feet, she reassumes her improved guard and smiles.

‘Ready when you are, Master Kenway.’ 

Assuming his own attacking stance, Haytham nods. ‘Defend yourself, Miss Kane.’

Focusing on Haytham’s chest, Adira deflects his heavy punches and strengthens her guard. Shifting her head and twisting her torso, she avoids the powerful blows but never loses focus. Bouncing on her toes, she shifts her guard to block his low punches to her abdomen and notices a brief smile cross his focused expression. 

‘Excellent, Miss Kane. Now counter…’ 

Adira breaks her guard and darts swiftly as Haytham’s fist launches towards her. Gripping his shirt, she thrusts her leg up over his shoulder and locks her feet together behind his head. Pushing against his thighs, she drops her weight down and pulls him forward. Finding purchase on her, Haytham tries to pull up but his knees buckle and they both drop into the sand again.

Unhooking her legs, Adira finds herself stifling a laugh as Haytham extracts himself and tries to regain his composure. Cocking an eyebrow at Adira, he forces the flush from his cheeks and looks at her quizzically.

‘I’m certain your father didn’t teach you that, Miss Kane.’ Haytham ventures as he brushes the sand from his breeches and stands, offering his hand to Adira.

‘Grandfather actually, though not directly.’ Adira takes Haytham’s hand and he pulls her up from the floor without issue. With his hand nearly encasing Adira’s, Haytham reluctantly releases his grip. Adira smiles appreciatively and begins to brush the sand from her but notices Haytham’s brow knit and his head tilt as it always did when he wished to know more.

Meeting his penetrating gaze, Adira continues. ‘I’ve been reading the journals he left father. He spent some time in Asia as a young sailor and was fascinated with their use of submission locks in fighting to subdue an aggressor.’

‘Indeed.’ Haytham muses for a moment and folds his arms gently, regarding Adira with a thoughtful expression. ‘A man of the world and all her knowledge, Miss Kane. It is gratifying to know others see the benefits of journaling.’ 

‘You keep journals, Master Kenway?’ Adira perches on the wooden panelling and folds her arms, allowing herself time to rest and time to enjoy their conversation. 

‘I find it an effective way to organise my thoughts, Miss Kane.’ 

Haytham found himself revealing a little more of himself to Adira each time they spoke. Her own honesty stirred in him a desire to confide in her - to trust her. He had trusted her enough to leave his weapons behind and he had trusted her enough to surrender completely to her touch. 

‘Might I ask what thoughts occupy a Grand Master’s mind?’ Adira smiles playfully and unfolds her arms, gripping the wooden panelling and watching Haytham intently. He presses his hands behind his back and lets out a deep breath, his gaze shifting from the sand and up to Adira’s eyes.

‘At this precise moment Miss Kane, I am considering how I might ask if you’d care to join me for afternoon tea before Shay continues your training this afternoon…’

Adira’s eyes widen and she feels her stomach explode in a fluttering of nervously excitable confetti. Swallowing hard, Adira peels her fingers from the panelling and gathers herself. The warmth in her cheeks radiates and Haytham smiles warmly, offering her his hand.

Meeting his grey eyes, Adira slips her hand into his and returns his smile as he pulls her up gently. 

‘Will you join me, Miss Kane?’ Haytham asks, his voice low and quiet and his hand still wrapped around Adira’s fingers. His grey eyes soften as his thumb brushes over Adira’s knuckles. 

With her stomach fizzing uncontrollably and her skin tingling, Adira finally answers.

‘I will, Master Kenway.’


	7. Chapter 7

Adira folded her jacket over her arm and leant against the red brick of The Green Dragon. Collecting her thoughts and willing her body to release the heat from her muscles, she focuses on the sounds and sights before her. Union Street had always been the hive of Boston and as such, it tended to attract those who wished to press their fingers to the pulse of the place and understand its inner workings.

A familiar face amongst the crowds drew Adira’s attention. The tussled blonde hair of Elizabeth caught the sun despite its unkempt and poor condition. The child’s hand was firmly wrapped in the claw-like grip of her mother’s. Keeping Elizabeth close, Adira watched the way the woman pulled her tan shawl a little tighter around her head to obscure her face from view. The dress she wore had been repaired multiple times but a long tear up the sleeve caused Adira’s eyes to narrow. The young woman was frantic and disheveled and was desperately avoiding the eyes of the redcoat patrols.

Adira’s suspicions were confirmed when, in the briefest of moments, she caught sight of the dark bruises on the woman’s gaunt face and the deep split in her lip. Frantically tugging at the shawl, the woman continues to dart through the crowds and dives through a gap in the wooden paneling between two buildings with Elizabeth in tow.

A deep, unpleasantness spreads through Adira’s stomach and blanches her skin. The breath she tries to take fades in her throat.

Elizabeth’s mother was a courtesan. The same courtesan who had had the redcoat’s arm snaked around her hip at The Green Dragon last night.

_What had happened to her?_

Acutely aware of the tightness in his abdomen, Haytham reassured himself and quieted his mind. Running his fingers softly over his hair, he smooths and tames any fly away strands before adorning his tricorn and pulling the tavern door closed behind him. Turning, he takes in the rigid form of Adira who stands, transfixed on something beyond her vision.

‘Shall we go?’ he chimes in an effort to pull her from her thoughts and quell the ferocity of his own which flared as he recalled their training session. Questions filled his thoughts and he longed to know more about the warrior before him. 

Haytham’s words fall on deaf ears. Adira’s gaze remains fixed on the exact point Elizabeth and her mother had slipped into the alleyway beside the rows of brick buildings which lined Union Street.

Haytham pressed his hands behind his back and approached Adira carefully. Following her line of sight, he quirked an eyebrow and turned his gaze subtly to the dark features and clenched jaw of his student.

Feeling Haytham beside her, Adira catches herself. Blinking away her riveted stare, she rubs her mouth with her hand but retains the tightness in her body.

‘I apologise, Master Kenway. My mind was elsewhere.’

‘Indeed. What has incensed you so?’

Adira let out a breath and shook her head as if damning herself internally. Turning her head, she met Haytham’s gaze beneath his furrowed brow and shifted her weight towards him.

‘I fear I may have had a hand in the misfortune of another, albeit indirectly.’

A little taken aback by Adira’s sudden revelation, Haytham tilted his head and pressed her. ‘Miss Kane?’

‘I cannot be certain.’ Adira turned her head to watch the alleyway entrance as if the answer to her burning questions resided just beyond. Pushing the invasive thoughts from her mind, she turned her attention back to Haytham.

‘Until I am, let us be off before responsibility comes to claim you, Master Kenway.’ Adira presses her hand into his upper arm and soothes the concern bubbling in the pit of her stomach. With her fingers lingering on his arm, Adira cannot help but smile as her touch erases the deep lines from his brow and softens the steel in his gaze. Brushing past him and pulling her fingers away, Adira’s eyes travel over the golden threads of his cloak. The iconography reflects the sun’s rays and reveals the connectivity of the two symbols which are emblazoned into it.

‘As it so often does, Miss Kane.’ Haytham feels Adira’s eyes on him and a smile curls his lips. Taking a moment, he savours being the object of her gaze and gestures towards the docks.

‘It is this way.’

Adira slows her pace to a sedate and comfortable walk to remain at Haytham’s side as they step out into the sunlit streets of Boston together.

‘I don’t imagine your busy schedule affords you the luxury of indulgences such as this very often, Master Kenway.’ Adira ventures, aware of how close Haytham’s hand was to her own as they walked through the streets. If she stopped suddenly, she would once again be pressed to his chest and although Haytham now wore his usual attire, Adira was acutely aware of what existed beneath the layers of fabric and it did little to settle her thoughts or her damn pulse. 

‘Quite. Though the rarity of such occasions means I place a greater value in fully enjoying the experience.’ Haytham could not recall the last time he had removed himself from his work to engage in anything remotely leisurely. More often than not, the social events he attended were a façade for further avenues of inquiry and simply provided the means to acquire or strengthen his connections for the Templar cause.

Haytham considered Adira as she turned out onto the docks. Her broad shoulders rose and fell slowly as she inhaled the scent of the sea air. As they proceeded through the thrum of sailors and towers of stacked cargo, Haytham saw Adira’s head turn toward the ships lying at anchor. Among the vessels lay The Morrigan, Shay’s pride and joy. A smile curled Haytham’s lips as Adira slowed to a stop and he, through no fault of his own, conveniently failed to notice.

Pulling up with a feigned start, Haytham chest rose enough to brush against Adira’s shoulder. The tight braid of her hair brushed against the sleeve of his frock coat and his hand instinctively ghosted over her lower back.

A half-smile spread across Adira’s pale face. The Grand Master was not a careless man. He acted with purpose and intent. Her stomach twisted and her mouth dried as she felt the fabric of his frock coat against her arm. The warmth of his fingers ghosting her back caused the base of her spine to fizz.

Turning her head, her eyes drift lazily up the embossed leather of his sword sheathe, up to the perfectly tied ribbon at his neck, over his lips which were drawn into a smile and up to his soft grey eyes which were shaded from the rays of the sun by his tricorn.

‘I only hope I do not give you cause to regret extending an invitation to me, Master Kenway.’

‘You have not disappointed me yet, Miss Kane. I have no reason to think you will.’ His bright smile held a genuine warmth and sincerity. It only widened when Adira’s normal pale countenance subtly shifted to one with a crimson hue and he watched her cheeks tighten as a result of the smile he had pulled from her.

Clearing her throat, Adira pulls away from Haytham and continues to walk along the front. Adjusting her coat across her arm, her gaze wanders from the steps she takes and up over the signs for each building as she scans for any indication of their desired destination. Finally, she catches a glimpse of a wooden beamed veranda and the sign for the tea room. Adira changes the subject to quell the heat in her cheeks.

‘This will make a pleasant change from my normal choice of beverage.’ Adira reflected.

‘Indeed. Shay’s convinced you could outdrink his entire crew and still be sober enough to hold your own in a fight.’

Adira laughed softly to herself which mixed comfortably with the chuckle Haytham released. It would seem the Grand Master had discussed her with Shay. A sense of satisfaction filled her, comforted by the knowledge that she was never far from his thoughts.

‘I’m not sure I’d outdrink an Irishman, Grand Master. Father tried it once and has never truly recovered.’ Adira muses and recalls a night filled with raucous laughter, whiskeys and bitters, and a handful of questionable decisions on her father’s part.

Haytham continues to smile and gestures to a vacant table under the veranda at The Boston Tea Room. ‘After you, Miss Kane.’

Nodding in acknowledgement, Adira’s cheeks warm again as Haytham graciously takes her frock coat from her and pulls her chair out. Sitting and wetting her lips, she presses her fingers together and shifts into a comfortable position.

‘What would you care for, Miss Kane?’ Haytham asks as he drapes Adira’s frock coat on the back of her chair. He rests his hand on the top rail and bends at his waist, leaning a little closer to Adira as he waits for her reply. His grip tightens a little on the fabric of her coat as he watches her full lips quirk subtly.

Taking a breath, Adira inclines her head towards him.

This was unexplored territory. Men challenged her to fist-fights and drinking contests.

They didn’t invite her to afternoon tea. 

Steadying her tone and rolling her shoulders, Adira fixes her eyes on Haytham’s.

‘I will defer to your knowledge on this occasion, Master Kenway. I’ll be sure to return the favour should we find ourselves in need of something stronger than tea in the future…’

Relinquishing a little of his control to the hunger in his veins, Haytham lowers his voice and shifts his weight. The warmth of his breath causes Adira’s skin to tingle and her pulse to quicken. A brief flash of something passes through his irises and quirks his lips into a half-smile.

‘I shall hold you to that.’ Haytham stated. A playful tone edged his words. With a knowing smile, he straightens and departs from Adira’s company.

Melting into the comfort of her chair, Adira releases her breath and brushes her arms firmly to combat the goose-bumps which had spread like wild-fire over her skin. Swallowing hard and focusing, she watches as Haytham addresses the portly gentleman who is in the midst of tidying away some trays. Crossing her legs, Adira rests her hands in her lap and enjoys the rays of the sun as they split through the wooden beams above her. Her eyes flutter shut for a brief moment before the familiar baritone timbre of Haytham’s voice lulls her back to the present.

‘Tell me about your father, Miss Kane.’ Haytham slides into the chair nearest to Adira and mirrors her posture and position.

Adira orientates her body and shifts her weight towards Haytham before answering.

‘He wasn’t always a tavern fighter. Before I was born, he was a sailor. A shanty man aboard a ship called The Steren.’

‘A shanty man? Forgive my ignorance but I’m afraid I have no fondness for sailing, Miss Kane. I step aboard a ship when it is necessary and only ever as a last resort.’ Haytham recalls his long voyages aboard The Morrigan and the journeys across the Atlantic. His stomach lurches a little but he hides his uncomfortable recollection behind a brief smile.

Adira notes Haytham’s tone and the unconscious thinning of his lips.

‘There is nothing to forgive, Master Kenway. The waters of the world are capricious and the confines of a cabin do little to assuage anxiety.’

The smile on Haytham’s lips shifted and he tilted his head as if acknowledging and accepting the comfort in her words.

‘I have an equal distrust of horses.’ Adira muses and watches Haytham’s eyebrow quirk.

‘They are dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle.’ Adira laughs a little and Haytham’s smile widens as he releases another chuckle.

The clink of china catches their attention and the portly gentleman returns with a full tray. With a bright smile, he places it onto the table carefully and distributes its contents and nods before departing.

Haytham pours the tea into the waiting china cups and offers Adira the plate of sandwiches. With a smile, she gratefully accepts and the pair begin to eat and drink contentedly. Taking her tea and wrapping her fingers around the cup, cradling it and enjoying the warmth spreading through her fingers, Adira continues their conversation.

‘In response to your question, a shanty man keeps time and rhythm on a ship when the crew are hauling in the sheets, securing ropes and the like.’

Haytham sips his tea and inclines his head a little. He considered himself erudite and well-read but Adira had a striking intelligence all of her own. A knowledge drawn from the pages of books and the experiences her life had afforded her.

‘How did your father manage that, Miss Kane?’

‘He would sing, Master Kenway. Though it’s been a great many years since he sailed, singing still brings him great joy. Perhaps it is because it is what drew my mother to him in the first place.’ A thoughtfulness spread through Adira’s features and Haytham noted the subtle shift of her lips into a smile which reflected the fondness of the memory she was currently exploring.

Haytham’s own thoughts returned him to his childhood. In the deepest corners of his memory, he could hear the quiet Welsh lilt of his father’s voice and the comfort it had brought him.

‘When I grew restless, my father would sing to me. I remember precious little of the tune. The words even less so.’

Haytham speaks quietly. ‘My memories of him fade with each passing day.’

Curiosity tugged at Adira and she took the opportunity to ask whilst Haytham felt comfortable enough to share. Placing her cup and saucer back on the table, she keeps her voice low and steady. Inclining her body towards Haytham, she notices how his eyes look beyond the present and penetrate the past as if searching for answers.

‘What do you remember of your father, Master Kenway?’

Adira studied Haytham carefully as he sifted through his thoughts. Not meeting Adira’s gaze, he rests his cup and saucer on his lap and turns his head slightly. A brief smile slips through and he inhales as though still wrestling to commit himself to his chosen response.

Finally meeting Adira’s gaze, Haytham allows her warm and understanding smile to pull the words from his lips.

‘The father I knew was a man I loved, respected and idolised. He instilled in me the importance of growing up with good values that I might be of worth to the world.’

‘And do you feel of worth to the world, Master Kenway?’ Adira queried gently.

Haytham reflected for a moment before answering.

‘Working with Shay since his induction into The Order has reassured me of the value of my undertakings as Grand Master.’

Haytham notes the expectancy in Adira’s eyes and he can’t help but smile. He didn’t know how but she knew there was more to it than that. More to say. An emotion which both frustrated and grounded him.

‘The consequences of The Order’s actions have been far reaching of late and have protected a great many lives from the crippling arrogance of poor leaders and disillusioned followers.’ Adira noted the bitterness which seeped into his words and how his gaze faltered minutely from hers.

‘You do not feel your father would approve of your title? Of your work?’ Adira probed a little more, carefully monitoring her tone. Gently peeling back the layers of stoicism that encased Haytham was a delicate process but one she hoped would allow him a moment of reprieve from his pain and his burdens.

Haytham leant forward slowly and placed his cup and saucer on the table and did not meet Adira’s eyes. With his forearms resting on the table, Haytham twists the ring on his finger and considers the crimson cross stamped into the metal.

‘The Kenway name is both a blessing and a curse, Miss Kane. The family legacy I was meant to protect is now one I strive to dismantle.’

Shifting forward in her chair, Adira wets her lips and disregards the brief flash of hesitancy which shoots through her as Haytham releases a barely audible sigh. Without a word, she gently places her hand over Haytham’s and squeezes reassuringly. Dipping her head, she pulls the Grand Master’s gaze up from the ring on his finger. Her dark pupils fix on his and she brushes her thumb along the back of his hand. 

‘Kenway or not, you are your own man - one with a vision and the means to achieve it. Your life is your own as is the legacy you choose to create.’

Without breaking away from Adira’s gaze, he rests his thumb over hers and brushes her wrist softly. A warmth once again fills him as he rolls Adira’s words over in his mind. A smile quirks his lips and his features soften.

‘You have wisdom beyond your years, Miss Kane.’ Haytham’s smile warms and brightens. He presses his fingers into Adira’s and continues to brush his thumb along her pale skin. He locks eyes with her and he tilts his head a little.

With a thunderous countenance, Charles’ eyes narrow as he assesses the scene before him. The vein in his temple throbs angrily and he clenches his jaw. He rolls his shoulders and sniffs harshly through his nostrils before storming towards the pair.

Haytham’s eyes narrow momentarily and dart to his side. Internally cursing, he turns his head back and considers Adira thoughtfully before removing his hand from hers. His smile falters and fades. The soft grey irises regain their steel and he straightens. Adira mirrors him, catching Charles in her periphery. The Grand Master retreats behind his metaphorical walls once more and the warm and blissful moment the pair had shared is doused by the inevitable and irksome arrival of responsibility.

‘I see you have already managed to distract Master Kenway from his work, Miss Kane… ’ Charles began, his words sharp and cold and his eyes darting from Adira to Haytham.

Haytham presses his fingers together and locks his muscles. The steel of his eyes flashes dangerously as he regards Charles. Before he can retort, Adira’s acerbic tongue breaks through her teeth.

‘Forgive me, Charles. I wasn’t aware you were the Grand Master’s keeper.’

Haytham’s eyes widen. Adira’s masterful use of the English language to break men down made his lips curl into a wry smile. The same caustic tongue which had slashed mercilessly at Charles had, only moments before, carefully enticed him to speak of his past and himself. Adira was a caustic combatant with an unparalleled ability to comprehend and comfort. He found he increasingly enjoyed her company with each moment he spent in it.

Charles scoffs and his eyes bulge. He turns to Adira to retort. He lifts his chin and clenches his fists.

‘Peace, Charles.’ Haytham commands quietly. ‘Miss Kane and I were discussing her training.’ 

Haytham shoots Adira a knowing glance and a disarming smile. Adira locks her fingers together and presses her weight back into her chair before nodding appropriately and releasing a low hum in agreement.

Charles’ eyes narrow and a brief, disingenuous smile crosses his lips.

‘I trust training is going well? I suppose it must be if you have time to enjoy tea together…’ Charles sneers.

‘Shay is to continue Miss Kane’s training this afternoon.’ Haytham interjects coolly, not rising to Charles’ suggestive remark and watches Adira carefully instead. His mind wandered to the moment she had wrapped her legs around his neck and pulled him down to the sand. Of her powerful form holding his in place. Adira was an _exceptional_ bare-fist fighter.

Charles folds his arm and spits his words. ‘And what is Miss Kane to learn from him? Other than tardiness and a complete lack of respect for his betters.’

‘Charles.’ Haytham chided. His eyes flashed dangerously and Adira watched as he flexed his fingers. Part of her hoped he’d act on his impulse but he remained composed.

Clearing his throat and composing himself, Charles finally issues his report. He purposefully avoids details. Although Adira was training with Haytham, she was not yet a Templar.

‘I have had further news from our… contact. I have arranged horses.’

Haytham’s eyebrow quirked and he nodded curtly. ‘Excellent.’

Turning his attention to Adira, a wry smile slips through his otherwise passive countenance. ‘I do believe Shay is ready for you, Miss Kane.’

Adira raises a quizzical eyebrow and follows Haytham’s gaze up to the crow’s nest of The Morrigan. Shielding her eyes from the bright rays of the sun, Adira finally recognises the familiar shape of Shay gripping the mast and smiling widely. A half-smile spreads across her own lips and she turns to face Haytham and notes the disapproval in Charles’ eyes.

‘Then I shall take my leave of you, Grand Master.’ Adira smiles warmly and nods, standing with Haytham and pulling her frock coat on.

Adjusting her collar, Adira catches Haytham’s eye as they finally walk out from beneath the veranda. Lowering her voice, she addresses him after ensuring Charles is preoccupied and out of ear shot.

‘Thank you for the tea, Master Kenway.’

‘My pleasure, Miss Kane.’ Haytham whispers and presses his hands behind his back and straightens. His eyes dart up to Shay. The warmth in his smile returns as he inclines his head towards Adira.

‘It seems Shay took me at my word when I told him you relished a challenge, Miss Kane.’

Adira had already begun to assess the best way to reach Shay. The voyage from Penzance had been a long one but Adira spent a great deal of time climbing the rigging and quite literally learning the ropes from her father.

‘Let’s see what you’re made of, lass!’ Shay calls from high above.

‘His training regime is ambitious to say the least.’ Charles states, disapprovingly.

‘Nothing worth having comes easy, Charles.’ Adira retorts quietly and smiles and nods knowingly at Haytham. The Grandmaster’s lips curl into a smile and he dips his head and touches his tricorn. Taking a breath, Adira turns and bolts through the docks and up onto the deck of The Morrigan.

Risking a quick glance behind her, Adira smiles to herself as the Grand Master’s eyes continue to watch her carefully. Wrapping her fingers around the rope at the base of the mast, she pulls it taut and sends a playful salute to an unconvinced Charles. Slamming her foot hard down on the lever holding the length of rope in place, the weight drops and she is pulled up the mast and lands on the crow’s nest platform with a decidedly satisfying flourish.

Haytham marvels at the speed and confidence of Adira’s ascension and smiles to himself at Charles’ disbelief. The thought of travelling to New York suddenly seemed inconsequential. Charles’ company would certainly be far less enjoyable…

Watching Haytham depart with Charles causes Adira’s smile to falter.

‘Don’t worry, Miss Kane. He won’t be away for too long.’ Shay smiles reassuringly and rests his hand on her shoulder. Adira turns her head to him and smiles appreciatively.

‘Now let’s see about getting down…’ Shay laughs and looks to the water lapping at the hull with a knowing smile.


End file.
